The Lost and Found Manscript
by drgn grl
Summary: Really want the inside scoop on the PotO? Try reading this. Either the space-time continuum is screwy right now, or someone is playing a really mean practical joke on me...
1. Chapter 1

_DISCLAIMER! There will be multiple references to things that are not mine. I. do. not. own. them. Whether or not these people are/were real is a completely different matter. In any case, it wouldn't be legal for me to own them then either. Only the narrator is mine—or, is me…I'm not sure which yet. Like I said in the description-- either the space-time continuum is screwy right now, or someone is playing a really mean practical joke on me._

_Anyway, please review! I want to know if I should keep trying to translate this out of French for all of you! (It's so hard! Expect sporadic uploads.)_

* * *

I hope to God that you actually find this and read this before you become me. I am serious. It's 1878, and I am in Paris, France. Don't ask me how I can write this in French. You know perfectly well I don't speak a word of it. Remember the marks you got in high school Spanish? Yeah, me too. I assure you that I didn't know any French whatsoever before I fell in the lake. But I'm getting ahead of myself, as usual. Look, I'm perfectly aware that this is probably going to end up on fanfiction, so you might as well do it. I doubt anyone would believe it anyway. Heck, I barely do, and I'm LIVING IT! So, I guess I better start at the beginning.

Once upon a time (because all good stories begin with once upon a time)—NO! wait, wrong story. This one isn't about cats…Love you, Gramma! :) _(yes, there was a smiley face on the manuscript. And this is only the beginning of the spookiness that I discovered.)_

Ok, so I was sitting in front of my laptop at my desk. It was late at night—and I mean like three in the morning late—and I was reading Phantom fanfics. It is not a good idea, ever, to stay up till three in the morning, so please don't do it. So, I was in my dorm reading, and I was really tired from the staying up this late the past two nights from..papers…that I had been..putting off..(cough, cough). Sound familiar? Yeah, I still haven't learned. I was finally relaxing, but super tired. So tired, in fact, that I just fell asleep at my desk.

I dreamed that I was falling. Not uncommon for me, I hate falling, so that is what my nightmares consist of—sometimes. I got that usual rush where my stomach drops out and my heart lodges in my throat. I didn't think anything of it. It was a dream. At least, I didn't think anything of it until I hit the freezing cold water. I inhaled sharply at the sudden cold—breathing in lots of water at the same time. I struggled to the surface and treaded water, coughing violently to get the water out and actually breathe. When I was finally able to breathe again, I looked around, shivering.

"F-f-fu-ck-k-k-ing c-c-col-d," I chattered. All I could see was that I was in a cave, underground (duh), and there's this person running to the lake from a house that was, for some reason, underground. Well, he jumped in and started swimming towards me. I started swimming towards him because I wanted to get out of this freezing water and he's by a shore. We met more or less in the middle, and he proceeded to drag me to shore and toss me roughly onto the bank. I would have objected to this behavior, but I was once more coughing up water that I had inhaled while he was dragging me.

"Who are you, and what are you doing down here, girl?" he hissed at me.

"Jessica," I coughed. I pulled my dripping hair out of my face and started wringing out the pounds of water it had soaked up. "And I have no idea." My teeth started chattering and my body shivering from the cold air. I tossed my hair behind me and started wringing out my T-shirt.

"You're lying," he hissed, grabbing my arm with one bony hand and pulling me up to my feet. "Why are you here?!"

"I don't know!" I chattered, glaring at him—or rather, his black silk mask. I could see pin-pricks of light where his eyes were. "I was in my room, sleeping, and then I fell into the fucking lake! It's three a.m. I'm tired, frozen, dripping wet, and I've got class in six and a half hours. Now, if you would kindly tell me where the _hell_ I am, I can go back to bed and maybe get some sleep before class." And if only to make my point, my body decided it needed to yawn just then.

He seemed surprised by my outburst. I was too, but then again, I was also sleep deprived. He seemed to consider what I was wearing—jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers. "You're under the Paris Opera House. Now get out." He practically threw my arm back at me and stormed back towards the house.

My brain must have been frozen as well as sleep deprived. I could almost hear the gears groaning under the effort of trying to think. "Paris...Opera... Paris…Like, France?! Th-that's not possible! I'm in the middle of the mountains in North Carolina!" He didn't answer. "How the hell am I supposed to get across an ocean?" Again, no answer. My mind was still slowly clicking, though, and I finally picked up on what should have been obvious from my countless hours of reading fanfics. "Erik!"

He froze.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm sorry I dropped in unannounced," I began, rubbing my arms for warmth and trying to smile. "I know how much you hate visitors. It's just—I'm here. I don't know why or how—I don't think I'm even in the right _century_, but I'm here. I'm cold, I'm tired, and I have no money and no place to stay." He slowly turned and glared at me. It would have really scared me if I wasn't so tired and hadn't been used to my brother's stares. "All I really want is someplace to sleep, and then I'll try to figure this out in the morning."

"Then go to sleep, and leave in the morning." He flung his door open, went inside, and slammed the door shut behind him. I didn't even bother to wonder if he had locked it. I was sure he had.

It wasn't fair, really, but what had I really expected from the phantom of the opera? Surely not kindness and compassion. No. I knew he considered them foreign things. After all, why should he show the world them when the world hadn't shown him any?

Well, no matter what, it was still three a.m.—to me at least. I really needed to get some sleep. I wandered the shore a little and found a nice flat spot to sleep, then proceeded to wring out my shirt and socks before putting them back on and curling up to go to sleep. My clothes were soaked and clung to me like a cold second skin. The cold air from off the lake didn't help matters. I don't know how long I laid there trying to go to sleep, but I was shivering the entire time. Eventually, though, my brain said 'screw it' and shut off, letting me drift off into an uncomfortable sleep on a rock bed.

Scientists say that they have discovered that college students can sleep just as well on a concrete slab with no pillows or blankets as an infant can sleep in the most comfortable of beds. I think I'm beginning to believe them.

* * *

I awoke to find myself in a strange bedroom. As in, it wasn't mine. This was, like, one of those really nice rooms that you only see on TV. I didn't really remember what had happened last night—it was all kind of like one of those weird dreams that you kind of remember having, that could have been real or maybe not. I kind of remembered almost drowning—twice—one of which was when I was being pulled to shore. 'Course, my mind wasn't really awake yet. It never is right after I wake up. It usually takes me half an hour to decide that I can—or need—to get up. I tiredly made a note that I had once more fallen asleep in my clothes and I really needed to stop doing that. I literally rolled out of bed and shuffled my way to the only door I could see. If nothing else, I needed to use the bathroom. The door was unlocked, and upon opening it, I expected to find a hallway that would lead to a bathroom. Instead, I found the bathroom. I took my time inside "freshening up." I combed my hair a bit with my fingers and tried to make myself look presentable for whomever owned this house.

Coming out of the bathroom, I could faintly make out the sound of an organ playing somewhere else in the house. It was beautiful. I found my shoes at the base of the bed—soaked entirely through. They weren't going to be dry for days. And just so you know, they are the same white sneakers that I'm willing to bet that you're wearing right now. It's my junior year in college, but I still wear them. If anyone else is reading this—that means they are really old for a pair of sneakers. But I digress.

My brain was finally starting to wake up as I sat back down on the bed. I looked around and started to piece things together. "Let's see…" I mumbled to myself. "Three a.m., papers, lots of fanfics, sleep in front of the computer, falling, freezing cold lake—which would explain the wet shoes…Erik pulling me out—huge jerk, sleep on the rocks…fancy bedroom, no door out, and organ music…." I dropped my chin into my hands as I waited for Erik to appear. I knew he was the only one who knew where the real door was to the room. He designed it to look exactly like the wall from this side—to keep Christine in.

As I waited, my mind drifted to that Irish song on the CD that you got from Marci back in high school—you know, the one where only the violin is playing at first and then the flute comes in. I think it is track four or five. I could only remember a few of the bars, so it ended up playing in an endless loop in my head, and I started to nod my head in time to the music, my eyes closed. Suddenly, the music changed from that to _The Traveling Soldier_, the next track on the CD. I just had to sing along.

"_Two days past eighteen, _

_he was waiting for the bus in his army green. _

_Sat down in a good café there, _

_gave his order to a girl with a bow in her hair. _

_He's a little shy, so she gives him a smile, _

_and he said, 'Would you mind sitting down for a while _

_and talking to me. I'm feeling a little low.'_

_She said, 'I'm off in a while,_

_And I know where we can go.'"_

I suddenly became aware of someone else in the room, and I broke off singing suddenly. I still haven't gotten over people walking in in the middle of my singing. I break off every single time, kind of ashamed that they had, or might have, heard me sing. I looked up and saw Erik just standing there. It gave me the same creepy feeling I had when I was a kid, and Dad caught me using the hallway light to continue reading way past my bedtime. The door to downstairs might have been closed, and the stair floorboards old and creaky, but damned if he didn't make it up there every single time without making a sound, catching me every single time! But, again, I digress.

At first, I just sat there watching him, nervously playing with the edge of my pant leg, and kind of somewhat smiling. I kept looking down, though, at my lap, feeling stupid. I finally managed a soft, "Thank you."


	3. Chapter 3

He didn't seem very pleased with my presence here. In all honesty, I couldn't blame him. I supposed he was waiting for an explanation on my part. I bit my lower lip, trying to decide what I should—and could—tell him. My hand moved to start playing with my snake ring on my left hand, and I looked down when I didn't feel it. Oh, that's right. I took it off last night and left it on my desk sometime around midnight.

"My name is Jessica. I'm from twenty-first century America—born and raised in Wisconsin, moved to North Carolina for college. I was up late reading fan fictions last night. I fell asleep in front of my computer, and then I ended up falling into your lake. That's all I know about this situation. I have no idea how I got here or how I'm supposed to get home."

"Even if I was to believe such a ridiculous story," which he didn't, "you still have much explaining to do. For example, how do you know who I am?"

The books and movies do not give enough credit to his voice. No actor could ever portray his pissed off voice properly. "It's complicated," I said, shifting my gaze to my right shoulder.

"How?!" He stepped forward menacingly. I think my brother does it better. He's way scarier than Erik. Wow. I just realized how sad that really is. But maybe I only think that because I've seen what my brother can do and only heard about what Erik can do? (shrug)

"From the book based on the last year and a half or so of your life, as told by second hand accounts, a journalist-turned fiction writer, and the fact that they found a skeleton under the opera house thirty years after everyone—and I mean _everyone_—believed you were dead." I looked back at him, not really impressed with him yet. He really did look like a skeleton dressed in fine clothes. Lon Chaney came the closest to getting the look right. What _ever_ had possessed Webber to cast a handsome man as the Phantom? Well, anyway, I suddenly got this sick feeling in my stomach and a shiver ran down my spine as I remembered that he had killed people in a very nonchalant manner before. Sure, I realize that all you fan girls believe you can handle Erik, but try being locked in a room with a pissed off Erik who doesn't know and doesn't care who you are—especially when you know more than a lethal amount of information about him. "I'm afraid I can't tell you anything more without potentially permanently screwing up the space-time continuum." _Please don't kill me_ was all that crossed my mind.

I appeared to have caught him off guard with my response. He just kind of stared at me for a while. "Twenty-first century, huh? That's quite a tale you're spinning."

"It's no tale. It's the truth. I could start spouting off technobabble about warp coils, dilithium energy converters, and jigawatts—not that you'd understand what the hell I'm talking about." Neither would I, actually. I could make up a lot of technobabble, though, and hope that it would sound impressive…

"I see your language has not improved any. I suggest you watch your tongue from now on."

I stuck my tongue out and tried looking at it. "No good," I finally said. "I'd go cross-eyed, my tongue would get dry and sore, and it would be impossible to talk." I smiled. I couldn't see his eyes, but I could tell he was glowering at me.

"Are all Americans as annoying as you?"

"Annoying? Muah?" I asked, sitting up straight and trying to look dignified yet insulted. "I, sir, may be many things, but never annoying. Crazy, insane, depressed, homicidal, suicidal, evil, and all-around bat-shit nucking futs—to name a few—but _never_ annoying." I shifted my eyes from side to side and then looked back at him, a small evil smile on my face.

_No_, I thought as he almost imperceivably shifted his weight from one foot to the other, _you never have seen the likes of me before, have you?_ Well, maybe he had. It's possible, isn't it?

I dropped the grin and sighed. "I also know that you are the only genius in this room, and I have no idea how to get home. I would be eternally grateful for any help that you could and would give me."


	4. Chapter 4

Erik seemed taken aback at my sudden switch of airs. He took a few steps forward and growled his response. "Or I could just kill you now and save both of us a lot of hassle."

I stiffened at the thought, fear coursing through my body and my mind racing. But the more I thought about it… "Sure, why not? That way, in the afterlife, I can brag about being the only twenty-first century fangirl to ever have gotten Punjabbed by the Phantom himself." I gave a pleasant smile, even though my stomach was doing flips and cartwheels.

"And you're not at all disturbed by this?"

"Well," I started ticking off my reasons on my fingers, "I don't know how to get home, I'm technically not going to be born for another century, it'd prevent me from screwing up the timeline and possibly creating a paradox that would give a serious headache every time I'd think about it, nobody would give a damn here, everything I _have_ been working on for the past ten years or so I can't get to and I doubt I could re-create from memory, I don't have any of my research material even if I _wanted_ to continue my work, _and_ I'd get bragging rights in the afterlife. Yeah. You know, I don't see any down to this—if you don't count the fact that I couldn't give you valuable advice on the whole Christine situation."

Again, he was taken aback. "I don't know how you know about her, but I don't need advice on how to handle her—especially from a girl like you," he seethed.

"Okay, several things," I said, raising an eyebrow. I pointed to myself. "One: twenty-first century." As if that explained everything. "Two: she's mentioned in your book—a lot. Three: I'm twenty-two. I'm older than Christine is. And four: you may not need it now, but you will when the Vicomte comes into the picture—if he hasn't already." I casually examined my long, nicely trimmed nails.

I glanced up to see him glowering at me. "Let me help you find words for that look. Damn her annoyingly correct womanly logic!" I smiled. He glared.

"You will stay here until I decide what to do with you." Erik left, sliding the door shut behind him and camouflaging it into the wall again.

I ran to where he left and examined the wall. It took me a little while, but I could faintly make out the outline of a door. "Let's see…he didn't outwardly reach out and press anything, so it has to be around here somewhere…" This search took me, like, twenty 'little whiles' to finally find the switch to open the door, but I found it. (I'm so proud of me! pat, pat, pat Ah! My elbow! I broke my elbow patting myself on the back! okay, off track, sorry) Getting out after that was easy. I walked around, exploring a bit, but apparently I make a lot of noise, even though I try to walk softly.

"How did you get out?!" he yelled, grabbing my arm and spinning me around.

"Ah!" His move silently skills still creep me out. He's gotta have at least a plus 175 in that skill alone, not counting his Dex modifier. (Sorry. Got a little DnD geeky there.) "Whoa! Chill!" I said, trying to slow my racing heart. "I didn't touch anything. I was just looking around." His grip tightened and I found myself clawing at his hand. "Hey! I opened the door! I used to open up the childproof locks on the cupboards when I was sixteen months! No biggie! I saw where you left and used logic from there."

He dragged me back to my room and roughly threw me back in.

"I just wanted to tell you something!" He paused, the door halfway closed. "Number one sixty-eight of the Evil Overlord's list is '_I will plan in advance what to do with each of my enemies if they are captured. That way, I will never have to order someone to be tied up while I decide his fate._'" I couldn't help but giggle as he slammed the door shut and locked it.

Sprawling out on the bed, I awaited Erik's return.


	5. Chapter 5

The next thing I knew, I was waking up. I groaned as I rolled over onto my back. I was _so_ tired. Nothing was registering besides the feeling of being tired and the fact that I was lying on a nice, soft, warm bed.

"I have decided to take you up on your offer."

I yelped and sat bolt upright. Erik stood at the foot of the bed.

"Don't _do_ that," I complained, collapsing back onto the bed. "I'm not even awake yet. Come back _after_ I decide to get up." I reached over, grabbed a pillow, and put it over my face, flinging my arms above my head to pin the pillow down and shut out the unwelcome light and noise.

Erik was by my head in under two seconds, ripping the pillow off my face. "You will _not_ ignore me!" I groaned in protest of the light and rolled over, burying my face in another pillow. I think I ticked Erik off. He knotted his bony fingers into my mass of blond waves and pulled me into a kneeling position. "Listen to me when I'm talking to you!"

"All right! All right! I'm up!" My hands were against his, trying to get him to let go of my hair. It felt like he was tearing it out by the roots. "Something about an offer."

He released me with a growl. "You will stay here, where I can keep an eye on you, and you will answer all my questions to my satisfaction." He walked down to the end of the bed again, and I had to turn around to face him. "If I find out that you have lied to me in any way, I will kill you. You may use anything you find in here or in the washroom. The rest of the house is off limits. Is that clear?"

"As water," I replied, not bothering to clarify how murky the waters I was referring to may or may not have been. That was my loophole for later.

"Good. How much do you know of me?"

I glanced around as I decided what to say, then looked back. "More than enough to get myself killed if I ever repeated it to anyone." Erik growled again in irritation. "Well, it's true."

"What about Christine?"

"We-e-e-ell, unless the Viscomte has showed up, then she only knows you as her music teacher and Angel of Music." I swear, I could almost see his face muscles twitching under his black silk mask. "What? You're the one not being specific."

"What do you know of Christine?"

"Traditionally, Christine Daae has blond hair, blue eyes—later versions, she's a brunette. Sixteen? I think? Only child of a famous Swedish violinist—I forget his name—he died when she was s-s-seven? I'm bad with dates and ages. After he died, she came here to the Opera Populaire, where she joined the corps de ballet as a chorus girl. Eventually, you managed to convince her you were the Angel of Music, whom her father sent to her to comfort her, and started giving her singing lessons. From what I understand, her voice is now amazing."

"It's angelic." I nodded in acknowledgment. "Why do you keep referring to the arrival of the Viscomte?"

"I refuse to answer that until I know what's been happening lately in the opera house." I had no idea where in the story I was. For all I knew, Don Juan Triumphant was going to be performed in a week. Or it could be two years before Raoul showed up. I would either be presumptuous or give too much information to Erik if I took either viewpoint. If Erik knew too much ahead of time, he could kill Raoul right off the bat, thereby destroying the story, which would mean that I wouldn't know the story, so I would have no reason to come back because I'd have nothing to tell him, which means he wouldn't know of Raoul, so he wouldn't kill him, thereby keeping the story intact, so I would come back and tell him, and he'd kill Raoul… I gave my head a quick shake to get rid of the paradox. It was starting to hurt to think about it.

"You _refuse_?"

"Damn straight. I'm not going to give you information that would allow you to screw with the timeline as I know it and thereby create a paradox that is never-ending. That hurts mah brain." I'm willing to bet no one ever refused him so point blank before when they knew their life was on the line. But hey, I figured it was better to be dead than stuck in a paradox.

"Christine Daae just finished singing her first role as _Margarita_." He was extremely proud of her. I could tell. Ticked that he had to tell me anything, but proud of Christine.

"Ah. I'm sorry I missed it. Let's see," I put my hand to my forehead, closed my eyes, and tried to remember what else happened. "Carlotta came down with a mysterious illness and couldn't sing tonight. Someone, of course, mentioned Miss Daae to the managers and convinced them to let her sing the lead." I implied 'Erik.' "She nearly fainted on stage. She woke up in her dressing room in the arms of a young man she didn't recognize, but who claimed to know her. He looks eighteen, but is really twenty-one, has blue eyes, small, fair mustache, and a girl's complexion." I gagged slightly at the thought of him. I've never really liked Raoul. I still don't. "A few minutes later, as Christine talked to you, she claimed to sing only for you. She gave her soul to you, and now she is dead. Let's see…oh, and Joseph Buquet was found hung in the third cellar between a farmhouse and a set from the Roi something or other. Found hanging, when they came back for him, the rope was missing." I looked up at Erik. "One of your good ropes? Or just your favorite one?" He looked shocked that I could know so much when I had been given so little a prompt. And then I had the impudence to ask him about a missing rope. I smiled and continued. "After that…let's see…I believe you made an appearance at the retiring managers' party—quite naturally, I might add—and made a remark about Buquet's death that terrified the old managers. Am I correct?"

"You certainly know a lot of details for someone locked in a bedroom." Oh, he was past annoyed now.

"I'm an avid reader. I remember details. I hate inconsistencies in stories."

"Fine. Now what about the Viscomte?"

"Raoul de Chagny, youngest of four, both parents dead, oldest sibling is the Comte Philippe de Chagny, two older sisters, age—twenty-one. He's known Christine since childhood, even rescued her scarf from the sea once. They've been described as childhood sweethearts. He still feels attracted to her, but it's still a continuing debate whether or not Christine is still attracted to him." I saw him tense at the mention of childhood sweethearts. He obviously didn't like the idea. "I'm not going to tell you anything more right now, except that the new managers are going to take the whole opera ghost idea as a prank. They are going to sell your box for the next couple of performances and eventually try to get rid of Madam Giry."

"They wouldn't dare defy my wishes like that."

I shrugged. "Just wait and see, then."

Once more Erik left, and this time I heard the faint click of a key turning in a lock. He had locked me in.


	6. Chapter 6

I was a little hurt by the fact that he didn't trust me enough to leave the door unlocked. He told me I wasn't allowed in the rest of the house, and I told him that I understood. So, was it really necessary to lock the door again? I suppose he locked it because I had opened the door once and walked around—even after he told me to wait in this room—but that was one time! One time! All I could do was sigh and try to find a way to amuse myself for the time being.

The room was beautiful—soft carpet, wood all over the place, old-fashioned furniture—absolutely gorgeous. There was an unused brush laying out on the dressing table in front of the mirror, along with bottles of lotion and perfume, various tins of powder, some make-up brushes, and powderpuffs. A jewelry box contained some absolutely _gorgeous_ necklaces, rings and earrings. I almost swallowed my tongue in amazement. I dared not touch them. It's just one of those things that we women have. You want to touch the pretties—the shinies—you want to wear them, but you don't. Maybe we think they'll break, or get scratched or marred in some way, but we don't touch them. Instead, I carefully closed the box with trembling hands and tried to focus on the other things on the table. The lotion was white and smelled faintly of roses. Nice enough. I myself would never think of putting on the powder. As I recall, these powders were laced with lead—which eventually lead to lead poisoning (he he…lead to lead poisoning…hehehehe… ahem, sorry), and then to hallucinations. No, thank you. I have enough problems to worry about as is. There were four different kinds of perfumes on the table as well. I put a little on my wrists from each one to test them out. One was a little strong, one was lilac, another was roses, and the fourth—WHOA, GOD!! I ran for the bathroom and doused my arm in water, coughing. Not only was the stench—that's right, stench—overwhelming, but it was MURDER to mix it with the other three. I couldn't breathe. If I could have stood the stench, I could have used that perfume as mosquito repellant as well as human repellant. Multifunctional. I had to scrub to get the smell off.

Well, now that I was in the bathroom—and actually awake, I had a good look around. The walls and floor were complete marble, as was the sink. The faucets were, if not gold, gold plated, and a beautiful bathtub sat against the far wall. It looked like I would be forced to take baths from now on. When _was_ the shower invented? Obviously not yet. Erik spared no expense for these two rooms. If he could have put a shower in here, I'm sure he would have. There were fluffy bath towels in here, along with washcloths and hand towels, soap of one kind or another, shampoo, and bath salts. I smiled. Nice.

I dried my arm off on one of the towels and went back into the bedroom to inspect the wardrobe. I can say this—Erik has excellent taste in women's clothing. There were dresses ranging from exquisite ball gowns to common everyday wear. I can't say I loved them all—I loved most of them, or at least a good number of them. There was only one problem with them—and the corsets and leggings. They were all fit for someone with almost no boobs, a twenty-three inch waist, and pencil-thin legs and arms. Not me and my full figure. This provided a clothing dilemma. Everything here was obviously originally meant for Christine—especially the clothes. The shoes, too. I wear eight and a half or nine, depending on the brand. These were closer to sixes. Great. Just great. So, out of all the clothes in the house that I could possibly wear—aka. in this room only—including what I was currently wearing, I had: one t-shirt, one pair of jeans, one pair of socks, one set of bra and panties, and one pair of disgustingly soaked sneakers that were on their last legs anyway. In other words—what I was wearing.

I sighed again and went to go take a bath. Maybe I could wash my clothes in the tub with me—for now at least. I could take a nap in the bed while they dry. I'd just have to bring up the clothing dilemma with Erik the next time I saw him.

The bath was nice, the clothes got clean, I took a nap.

I woke up to the smell of food, and my stomach roared, twisting itself into a knot. Erik had brought in a tray full of soup, bread, and fruit while I was asleep. I had guessed that I was going to be eating in here, but I had also been hoping to talking to him about the dilemma. I guess it would have to wait. My clothes were still damp, so I ate in the nude and then crawled back into bed. It was warm and comfy.

I was so bored. There was absolutely nothing to do. So I ended up letting my mind wander. I worked on a few of my story ideas, sang snippets of songs that popped into my head, had conversations with no one in particular just because I wanted to see what it sounded like out loud—you know, the usual things I do when I'm bored with no internet, no TV, no computer, no pen and paper, and no books. I have never been that bored for this long before, and I hope to God that I am never that bored ever again. I got bored enough to count how many times I could sing through "The Song That Never Ends" before it grated enough on my nerves that I was sick of it and couldn't stand it anymore.

Thankfully, I was eventually rescued from my state of boredom by that blissful state of unconscious being called sleep. I think I finally caught up on that one thing that every college student dreams about. Sleep. Such a lovely term. At some points in my life I actually almost stopped believing in its existence. Ah, sleep….

I was actually awake when I woke up next. It is such a nice feeling to be caught up on sleep. I got dressed in the only clothes I could wear—the ones I came in—and found myself extremely bored. Once again, there was nothing to do. I was so bored and so full of energy at this point, that I actually started exercising of my own accord. I know. Scary, ain't it? I did a load of stretches, and then a ton of sit-ups—until I couldn't sit up anymore from the pain. I just finished my rest break and started on my push-ups when Erik came in with more food.

"What are you doing?" he asked with what I swear must have been a strange look on his face beneath his mask.

"Push-ups. What does it look like?" I stood up. "No. I'm doing ballet." I rolled my eyes as sarcasm dripped from every word.

"Must you be so annoying?"

"I'm an older sister. It's my job."

"Not here." He put the food on the dressing table. "Here, eat."

"Thanks." He started to leave. "Hey, Erik, about the clothes—"

"It's being taken care of."

"Oh. Thanks." The last word was more or less cut off by the closing of the door. The lock clicked again.

That lock was starting to get on my nerves.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks all to those of you who have given me reviews! I really appreciate it, and it helps me get through the loads of French that I have to translate to bring this to you. I fixed a few minor glitches in the first chapter, but it won't affect anything that happens later. Keep sending in those reviews and enjoy!_

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The next few days were a lot like this. At least, I'm assuming that days past. I was never allowed out of the bedroom area. The only things that showed the passage of time were the meals that showed up on a more or less regular basis—every now and again a breakfast was forgotten—sleep on my part, and the fits that Erik would occasionally throw in the rest of his house. I couldn't make out any of the words, but he would yell and throw things. Things would break and crash. I assumed his anger was because he discovered the managers had sold his Box. Eventually, he would stop yelling and throwing things, and his music began to play. His angry music. I could hear and _feel_ his frustration. Rock 'n Roll was mellow compared to it. It was like classical relaxation music compared to Erik's. It's hard to put it into words, but I guess I'd have to say it was close to "I hate and _loathe_ this God-damn world. Fuck the world and damn it all to Hell!"

It didn't scare me. On the contrary. He was saying with his music what I had been feeling for years. I am not a people person. I am not safe to be around when I'm upset. The only things that have kept me from committing mass murder so far have been my lack of weapons and my friends holding me back. I enjoyed his music. I savored it. I let down the barriers I had erected to control my own anger. I welcomed it, and often fell asleep to it. It was after one of these fits that Erik would forget my breakfast.

The new clothes arrived after a few days. The dresses were gorgeous. And—this next part is kind of scary—they fit my curves perfectly. I heard Erik liked to do that, but I had assumed it was only for Christine. I mean, I'm just an unwelcomed houseguest. Christine was his beloved. (I only say 'was' because they're both probably dead by the time you're reading this.) But the sizings on the dresses! The hems were an inch off the floor. The waists hugged my waist and flowed gracefully over my hips. The sleeves were fit and the chest gently cupped my chest. It was the perfect fit all the time, and it made me wonder—_how did he get my measurements?_ The stockings and the corsets were the same. They fit like gloves. I admit, I didn't exactly lace up the corsets….damn lacings…(mutter, mutter)…can't lace myself…(mutter, mutter)… I have a feeling that I'll either end up wearing the bra I came with, or do without. I understand now why women usually had a maid help then dress. The chemises I didn't have a problem with. They were loose and basically like nightgowns. However, with all the perfect fits on all the rest of the clothes, I was a little scared to try on the panties. I was starting to get creeped out. _I_ normally don't get this good a fit when I'm shopping. Erik's really sweet and considerate to buy me so much, but did it have to fit this well? I was beginning to wish my door locked from the _inside_ instead of the outside.

Speaking of locking the door, Erik was still locking it every time he left the room—even after what was probably a week. It was really starting to piss me off. Not only did he not trust me to stay in this room if it was unlocked, but during that entire week, I only saw him as he came in and dropped off food or picked up the remnants. He didn't stay to talk. And he didn't give me anything to do, either. I exhausted my mind trying to think of something to do. There is only so much you can do with nothing! I was doing _yoga,_ for crying out load. YOGA!! And besides the other exercise thingamajiggies that you can do by yourself—like stretches and push-ups and sit-ups—I was actually practicing my Tai quan do. Yes, I took it up again after I got back to college. You should do it. It's fun. Anyways, yeah. Yoga and Tai quan do. Two things I never do by myself or without some one to constantly remind me that I should do them. I was that bored. And remember that feeling you got over spring break your freshman year of college when you forgot to bring anything to write with and so you couldn't write for a week? Yeah, I started to get that feeling. The feeling that you're starting to go batshit crazy because you need to write and can't. It's an odd feeling. Your fingers start to twitch just a little and you start out by feeling like you don't want to do anything, but then it starts turning into annoyance and irritation by the slightest thing. Like the no books. Or the no paper and pen. Or the more or less same food every day. Or that I had no one to talk to or see, really. Or the locked door. God, I was starting to really hate that locked door. It made me feel like a pet of Erik's. Feed the pet on a daily basis. Don't bother if it's the same food. The animal doesn't mind. Make sure the pet has everything to make it comfortable and well-groomed. You don't want it looking nasty, it reflects badly on you. Don't let the pet out of the kennel, it might ruin something. I hate that locked door…..

One day, I was in a particularly bad mood for some reason or another. I think I was thinking about the door and how it was locked so I couldn't get out. Anyway, I was in a bad mood—and by bad mood, I mean I would have hurled a vase at the door if the vases weren't so pretty… So, I was sitting on the bed in my jeans and one of my blouses—cause, well, it's hard to work out in a dress or skirt, and jeans are very durable—no socks, though, cause I don't like socks—or stockings—and I was glaring at the door, pillow in my lap. I don't know how long I sat there, but I swore, if Erik came through that door before I calmed down, I was going to throw the pillow at him, no matter what he was carrying.

And before long—because time has no meaning in this room—the door started to open and Erik started to push through. I let my pillow fly. I never should have given up softball. My aim was off and I hit the wall, almost knocking into the gas lamp. I aimed for Erik, and got the wall to my left, just barely grazing him. I need more practice.

Surprised, Erik ducked back out for a moment.

"Stop locking the fucking door!!" I screeched, seething.

He stormed back in, empty-handed, leaving the door wide open, and grabbed me by the neck with one hand. "You ungrateful wench!" he hissed.

"I am seriously beginning to consider lying to you _just_ so you can kill me," I hissed back, leaning into his hand, bringing my face closer to his masked one.

"And why is that?" He pushed me back, tightening his grip. It was getting hard to breathe.

"Because you treat me like an animal." He froze. "A pet you can just feed and dole out affections to as you please, and then ignore it the rest of the time, expecting it to be happy. You don't even care that I'm going batshit crazy with nothing to do."

Erik gently released me and backed away, his eyes no longer shining with hatred—or was it just anger?—well, fury, anyway. I must have struck a chord, brought him back to his days with the gypsies. I hadn't even thought about that until then. He obviously had not been aware of his own actions. Erik turned away in thought before he spoke again, this time calmly. "You said you were an avid reader, yes?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Then…perhaps the library would suit you."


	8. Chapter 8

_No reviews makes me very sad...(sniff, sniff)_

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Erik's library is fucking awesome. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall books. I had instantly perked up at the mention of books, and allowed him to lead me, wide-eyed, to this paradise of mine. I was not disappointed.

My jaw dropped when I saw it. It is THE largest non-public/college/school library I have ever seen. I thought I had a lot of books, but his is WAY bigger than mine. In the past four years since I've started college, I've like doubled or tripled my library, and mine is _miniscule_ compared to Erik's. I walked in, my mouth open, my eyes wide, and struggled for breath. I could only think of two things: _Oh my God_ and _I could _so _live in this room for years_.

Erik stood by the door, watching me as I started scanning the titles of the books I passed on my tour of the room. I was looking for _Dracula_, since I'm only half way through with it, but I think I'm going to have to wait a few more years for it to be written, actually… (sigh) However, I did come across a book I've been meaning to read, so I pulled it down.

"Oooo. You've got _Notre-Dame de Paris_." _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ for those of you who prefer the English translation. I petted the front cover of the book. "It's a first edition, too, with the original cover artwork…"

"You've _read_ that?" He sounded surprised.

"Not yet, but I'm going to…" I hugged the book to my chest and cast a sideways glance at him, a mischievous grin on my lips.

"What else have you read, then, if you plan on reading something as un-ladylike as that?"

"Well, I'm in the middle of _Dracula_."

"Never heard of it."

"Really?" I couldn't believe (at the time) that he had the hunchback, but not Dracula. I mean, they like, go together… "The main character is a vampire…" I tried coaxing out of him. "From Transylvania…Count Dracula…sucks blood…" I could almost see him raise an eyebrow.

"Why would a young lady want to read about vampires?"

"Because they're _hawt_." I couldn't stop from giving him an evil grin, and I could swear there was that twinkle in the corner of my eye that animators give manga characters that are trying to be charming, or are smirking in the setting sun because they're winning their duel or whatever. "Besides, what's not to love? They wander around at night, killing anyone they please and drinking their blood. And they're immortal. Can't forget the immortal bit."

"And that's why you like them?" I only smiled. Then I bit my lip.

"'Course, they have to sleep in their coffin, never venturing more than a few hours away from it, only the very rare day-walker ever sees the light of day again, they're always cold and pale, and they kill people all the time… he he. Sounds like you. Saaay, you're not a vampire, are you?" I mock-seriously glared suspiciously at him. Erik didn't say anything, just folded his arms across his chest.

"No, no, that wouldn't work," I decided, shaking my head and giving a disappointed sigh. "Vampires can't cross running bodies of water unless they're in their coffin, and they die die if submerged under water for more than eighteen seconds…"

"And how do you know all this?"

"I researched it for the book I'm writing about a girl who gets turned into a vampire by the government. Well, sort of. It's not like they meant to. It just sort of happened. They were trying to create the perfect assassin-slash-spy-slash-infiltrator, but their genetic experiments kind of got out of hand, and they kind of turned her into a sort of vampire. See, her DNA is constantly decaying at an excessive rate, so it has to be replenished and completely replaced at least once day—more so if she has to heal at any point in time. But the…" I stopped when I realized that I was doing it again.

"I'm sorry," I said, turning away from him and opening the book to a random spot, pretending to read. "I'm boring you. I start rambling and I don't realize it. I'll just shut up now and read my book."

I walked away with my eyes on the page and sat in one of the comfy chairs conveniently placed in the library. It was comfy. (big toothy grin) When I looked up, Erik was gone. _Great. Now he thinks I'm this huge idiot. Smooth. Real smooth, you idiot…_

I turned to the first page and actually began reading _Notre-Dame de Paris_. It didn't surprise me that it was in French—it _was_ written by a French dude. No. What surprised me was that I understood it. _Wow. I didn't know I could read French. But…I am in France…Am I speaking French, too, and not even knowing it?_ I shrugged it off and just enjoyed the novel.

I had read, I don't know, something like eighty-ish pages when Erik came back in. I was reclining in the chair—head on one armrest, feet dangling over the other—enjoying the book, when I heard Erik speak, telling me that it was time to eat. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Don't _do_ that!" I cried, half on the floor now. "You scared the crap out of me!"

"It _is_ amusing." Was he _smirking _under that mask?

"To _you_. God, one of these times you're going to give me a heart attack."

"Are you coming or not?"

"I'm coming, I'm coming." I got up, muttering to myself still about Erik and his unnatural ability to scare people, and found something to mark my place in the book. Then a followed his gaunt figure to the dining room and food.

It was still more or less the same food I've been eating, with just a little variety in the fruit and kind of soup. Blech. Soup. I'm starting to really dislike soup. I started to dish myself out food and eat. Erik wasn't eating, and it was making me a bit uncomfortable.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

"I have all I need." A cup of liquid—tea, most likely. Russian tea, if I remember my stories correctly.

"Hm." I started picking at my food more than eating it. I hate to eat while my table-mates aren't. "So, what's been happening on the surface?"

He considered for a moment what he should and should not tell me. "The new managers of my opera house are ignoring me, as you predicted, even though the old ones assure me they were given my memorandum book and informed of their duties. Christine has _not_ been performing, as I had wished, partly because of the pig-headedness of the managers and partly because she seems terrified at the thought."

"Sudden celebrityism is hard. Especially for a sixteen year old who is normally very quiet and reserved."

Erik gave me a harsh glare before continuing as if he hadn't heard me. "That idiot of a boy has been hanging around as well, trying to get Christine's attention."

"But, of course, you discourage her giving him any attention."

"Naturally." There was a long silence. "Is there something wrong with the food?" I could feel him stare at me as I stared down at my food.

"I'm not hungry," I lied as my stomach twisted itself into knots and growled. I knew he didn't believe me now. Stupid stomach. "I-I dislike eating when…when others aren't." It makes me feel like the rude one.

More silence. "Anything upcoming I should know about?" I asked.

"I thought you said you already knew what was going to happen."

Yeah, in the long run. "The book wasn't terribly specific on dates." Not that I knew what day, month, or year this was anyway. "Any important events?" I was fishing, and I knew it.

Erik considered me again carefully before answering. "The anniversary of Christine's father's death."

I closed my eyes and nodded, thinking back. _"…The snow lay thick on the ground, covering the greater part of the small tombstones…The moon shone against the snow, and made the night quite bright…It was very fine and very cold and one could see everything…I was anxious that she should turn round and see me. I made no effort to hide my footfalls…" _Winter, it was winter, then. I knew that was probably not how it was written in the book, but it was close enough to what Raoul had described. I looked up. Erik wasn't moving, looking straight at me in disbelief. I had tried my best to quote what Leroux wrote. "The boy's going to follow you to the graveyard, but he'll miss the train just barely. He won't be able to arrive until the day after you do. Ignore him. He's harmless—for the most part."

"Explain," Erik commanded, interrupting.

"Well, he does get in the way a bit. Curiosity. Just try not to kill him."

"That's not good enough." He wanted more from me. His eyes commanded it.

"Well, you're not getting anything else." He gave a slight growl as he set his cup down and glared daggers at me. Scary as hell. Really. Anyone else would have caved and babbled. Well, almost. I can think of a few who wouldn't. I struggled to keep a calm demeanor and a blank face. "Kill me and you won't learn anything. Hurt me and I'll just shut up." We had a silent battle of wills, but I just couldn't keep my gaze against him. I dropped my eyes to my food again. "Besides, he's going to almost die from the cold anyways," I tried to offer him as a consolation.

Erik just picked up his cup again and let the rest of the slow meal pass in silence.


	9. Chapter 9

_So, here is the next chapter. Yay! It has been soooo long, I can't believe it's been so long since my last chapter was up. Stupid finals...and homework... So, read on and enjoy the babbling that goes on in this chapter. And, PLEASE, keep sending in the reviews!_

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Nothing much happened for the rest of the day. Erik left me alone in the library. Sometimes I heard him composing—_Don Juan_ maybe—other times it felt like I was the only soul in the house. I only saw him when it was time to eat, and then we never said anything. Really, what do you talk to him about? My day? It was spent reading a book. _His_ day? I don't think I could even get him to admit to be composing anything at all. I'm pretty sure I could get just as good a conversation out of my fork as I could out of Erik.

So, my day was spent reading _The Hunchback_. I finished it, though—all in one day. But judging by how much my brain had shut off for the night, it had to have been somewhere between midnight and three a.m. My brain had hit 'silly,' but had yet to reach 'fall asleep reclining in the chair.' So I guess I was still good.

The next morning Erik was gone. As in gone gone. As in not-in-the-house-or-on-the-lake-but-the-boat-is-on-the-other-shore-and-there's-no-note-or-anything-for-me-here gone. In fact, he was gone for the next five days. At first I didn't mind. I wandered into the kitchen and ate what I felt like whenever I felt like, conveniently "forgetting" that there was still soup to eat. I tried reading another book, but my mind kept drifting to my stories. I really needed to write by this time. At first I was kind of comatose with need, lying around on the sofa or in a chair, thinking about my stories and planning out chapters in my head. By the second day, I was writing them out loud, talking them out. I wish I had a tape recorder. I had some great writing at that point of my mental instability. Unfortunately, I've never been able to reproduce what I did that day—even after once more depriving myself of writing for a week and a half. It's kind of frustrating. After trying that non-writing experiment once, however, I've been forbidden to try it ever again—for everyone's sanity. And just to prove to you what state of need my mind was in, by the third day I as arguing with myself over the results and ramifications of breaking into Erik's room and stealing pen and paper from him. It was a rather long and rambling conversation with myself, and I kept glancing from his door to the door that lead out to the lake, as if the moment I decided to go for it, Erik would appear. It tended to go something like this:

"It's only gonna be a few pieces of paper. I only need a couple sheets. But-but he'd kill me. Only a couple. He won't miss two or three. And some ink. He'd notice. He always notices. Not me, though. No, he never notices me. Not until I do something wrong. If I put things back where I found them, he'd never know. Oh, but he would. I bet he counts how many pieces of paper he has. And I bet he locks his door, too. That means I'd have to break it down. But then he'd know for sure. I could always use a knife from the kitchen. An angry Erik couldn't be much different from an angry Joshua _my older brother_, could it? No, no it couldn't. Oooh! I'm gonna die! But, but, if worst comes to worst, I could always stab him in his sleep… No. Must not kill Erik. Erik of hotness. Oh. Phantom Erik. No kill Erik. Kill Erik bad. _You have come here, hardly knowing the reason why._ Oooooh! (whimper) No kill Erik. But, but need paper… Paper…."

That was more or less what happened until Erik got back sometime on the fifth day. I came really close to breaking into his room, though. The only thing that stopped me was the ringing of an electric bell. It sounded something like a doorbell. At first I didn't know what it was. I was really paranoid at this point, spending the last four or five days expecting Erik to just appear and catch me doing something that he could kill me for. And yes, I had managed to convince myself that Erik was going to kill me, but in his own time, like the assassin he is. It must have been a full minute before I realized that the bell meant someone was on the lake. I instantly thought "Erik," and sat cross-legged on the sofa in my long skirt, trying to look innocent.

Erik walked in, took one look at me, and asked "What did you do?"

My eyes started darting around the room. "Do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Why do you ask? How was your trip? What did _you_ do?" If I asked him enough questions, maybe he'd get distracted from reading my mind. Just in case he can read minds.

He glared and then strode into the house, determined to find whatever I had been up to.

"No!" I started to get up, but quickly sat back down, twiddling my thumbs at high speed and rocking slightly. _"This is the song that never ends. Yes it goes on and on, my friends. Some people…."_ I kept glancing around the room 'inconspicuously', all the while singly softly to myself and stealing glances to Erik's bedroom door.

Erik stopped immediately and looked at me again. "What did you do?!" he demanded. I kept singing. He was by me before I could even finish the line I was on and pulled me to my feet by my arm. "Tell me!"

"EEEP! Nothing! I didn't do anything! Ididn'tblowuptheoperahouseIcouldn'tevenfindtheexplosiveseventhoughIknowwheretheyarethey'reunderthetorturechambernotthatI couldgetinthereinthefirstplaceanywayandIdon'thaveanydynamiteorplasticexplosivesandIcan'tevenlookuphowtomakeabombonthewebbernet. I wish my brother were here," I finally finished, starting to get emo. "He'd make me a bomb. At least, he'd make a bomb. With a really cool explosion, too." Suddenly cheerful again. "So how was your trip?"

Erik stared at me for a moment, then let me go and walked away.

"Come on! Come on! Come on!" I started bouncing after him. "I wanna know what happened! I hate how the book describes it. And the movies always get it wrong. Tell me tell me tell me! Did you kill the son-of-a-bitch, I mean the bastard, I mean Raoul?"

Did I see him glance at me in amusement? And was that the semblance of a smile? Or was that only my more-than-slightly unstable mind? "No, I didn't."

"Oh." I was kind of crestfallen at the idea that my not-so-favorite-Phantom-of-the-Opera-'character' was still alive, and I gave a disappointed sigh. But, that would mean that at least Christine wouldn't end up with Erik. But Erik wouldn't end up with Christine. I hate these contradictions! "So, what happened?...PLEASE, Erik! I need to know or I'm going to go completely Bonkers!" I applaud and stand in awe of anyone who understands why I capitalized Bonkers. And I'm kind of sorry you had to live through that era.

"_Going_ to go?"

I glanced around, thinking. "Yes."

He looked at me like he was going to ask 'and you had to think about it?' but he didn't. "He arrived the day after Christine, they talked, he followed her to the cemetery that night, she didn't notice, he grabbed the edge of my cloak to keep me from leaving, I choked him into unconsciousness, he still lives—unfortunately."

I blinked a few times. "That's it?" I frowned. "That sucks. You suck. I keep hearing about how you're this great story-teller, and this is all I get? That sucks. I could have made up something better than that." My eyes darted over to his door, knowing that's where all the precious paper was, and then back to him. I walked off muttering something about gremlins, soul-stealing, death, and destruction. I don't even remember what it was anymore.


	10. Chapter 10

I wandered into the library and proceeded to sit in my reading chair, then lay over both arms, and finally to just sit upside down in the chair with my skirt tucked between my legs. Maybe, just maybe I could make myself sane again if I gave myself a bloodrush. I was finding something, but it wasn't my sanity.

"Now what are you doing?"

"Giving myself a headache," I said, squeezing my eyes shut and holding my forehead.

"Why?"

"Because I'm am idiot and I felt like it." I turned myself so I was laying over both arms again. The blood started rushing. "Whoah God!" I said, holding my entire face now. I pointed vaguely at Erik. "Don't ever do that. It hurts like hell."

"How do you know what hell feels like?"

I rolled off the chair and onto the floor. "It's just an expression." Using the chair for support, I managed to drag myself to my feet. "I need to find a less painful way to distract myself."

"From?"

"My stories. God, I need to find something to do before I drive myself completely insane." I kind of drifted off again, wandering the house, glancing at Erik's door whenever I could steal a look. Finally I sat down in a chair in the sitting room. "Oooooh! This is sooooo much worse than any summer vacation back home," I moaned, dropping my head on the arm of the chair. "At least then I had a chance to write."

"You certainly are interesting to watch." Erik had been watching me wander aimlessly around the house, and now he was back to being annoying, stating the obvious.

"Go away," I said, not lifting my head. "Don't you have some stalking to do or something?"

"Stalking?!" Offended, he walked closer to where I had collapsed of boredom. "What do you mean stalking?!"

"What else do you call a fifty-year-old who follows around a sixteen-year-old, obsessed with her? Now go away. My stories have declared war on my sanity, and my sanity's losing." I vaguely waved him away.

"You make no sense sometimes."

"I make perfect sense. To me. You just don't think on the same wavelength. If you did, you would currently be going crazy too from not writing anything in two weeks."

"All right. I'll bite. What do you write?"

"Fantasy and Science fiction mostly, along with the occasional poem." I looked up and saw that Erik had his arms crossed and had a disbelieving demeanor to the way he was standing. I put my hand to the side of my mouth and whispered loudly, as if imparting secret information to him. "My psychiatrist tells me that it's a good outlet for my emotions and helps keep me sane." I nodded sagely, but wide-eyed. "But I haven't been able to write anything in two weeks, and what little sanity I had is starting to leave."

"And writing would solve this?" I nodded, still staring at him. He turned around and walked away. Was that an _eye-roll _I detected behind that mask?

I only saw him in passing the rest of the day. Mostly I just hung out around the house--not like I had anything to do anyways.

The next afternoon, Erik came into the sitting room where I was staring off into space. He set a large-ish bundle wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine down on a small table, and he sat down in an armchair. I watched Erik carefully. Being in my evil assassin mindset, I was sure that Erik was trying to kill me. The brown package was just part of the plot. After he sat down, he folded his hands, his hands in his lap and his elbows on the arms of the chair, and stared at me. I stared at Erik, then at the package, then at Erik, and back to the package.

"Go on," he said finally, "open it. It's yours."

Glancing suspiciously at him, I slowly got up and walked over. I stopped a few feet away and assessed the situation. It didn't _look_ dangerous, but a little bit of nitroglycerin goes a long ways to a good explosion. I walked up to the edge of the table.

"It's booby trapped, isn't it." I stared suspiciously at the package. "It's full of highly volatile explosives. Covered in acid that'll eat away my flesh. Contains a poison that you're immune to, but would kill me slowly, writhing in pain..." He didn't say a word, only looked at me expectantly with--could that be a grin on his lips beneath that mask? I proceeded to reach out and touch the brown paper with one finger, jerking it backwards instantly. Erik chuckled when nothing happened. I reached out again and carefully untied it, sliding the paper away.

I started to shake when I saw what he had bought me. I couldn't believe it. My mouth hung open as I struggled to draw ragged breathes. Erik had bought me paper. But not just paper--a _ream_ of paper. An entire ream of blank paper. And there were pens and ink as well. I swallowed as I gently touched the cool smoothness of the paper.

"Is it to your liking?" I let out a shriek as I dove for the seated Erik.

"Thank you, Erik! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I planted a kiss on the cheek of his mask and hurried back to the table, scooping up my newest treasures in my arms. My smile and excited eyes told Erik everything he needed to know as I raced down the hall like a five-year-old who had gotten the one and only thing on her Christmas list.

I closed myself in my room and cleaned off the small table, pulling up a chair. I was really, really excited. This was the first chance I had to write in almost two weeks. My fingers were itching to write. The nails and tips of my fingers were constantly dancing across that hand's thumb, jittery, yearning to write. Ideas raced through my head and I spun my pen in my hand, trying to grasp one of the ideas. One of the thoughts. The blank ream of papers in front of me was like putting a feast, a banquet, in front of a starving beggar. I didn't know where to begin. Which story to write. Whose story to write. Finally, I licked my lips, repressed the shiver that coursed through my body, and touched the pen-tip to the paper. Adair's journal. Adair's story.

I composed it in my mind first. It had to be right. Once it was written, it was the truth. It was what happened. There is no changing it. As soon as it was clear in my head, my pen flew across the paper, writing almost an entire paragraph before I really looked at what I was writing. When I did, all joy and excitement drained from my body, replaced with horror and dread. Everything I had written was in French. No. That couldn't be right. I didn't know French. I had never spoken French in my life--never written it, never studied or _learned_ French. Hell, I barely remembered my three years of Spanish.

Okay. Maybe this wasn't so bad. I could work with this. So I knew French. I don't know how, but, hey, it was a necessity to communicate here. Logically, I'm in France. They speak French. I need to know French. I took a deep breath. No big deal. I could still read it. Hell, the Hunchback was in French, and I read that, and that was only last week. No big deal.

It looked a little strange, though. I mean, I've spent twenty-two years writing in English. Okay. All I had to do was concentrate, get the English flowing again, and I'd be fine. My brain was probably just locked in French. Hell, I'd probably been speaking it since I got here, not even realizing it. Deep breath. Okay. Spell it out in my head before writing it down. 'Not' is n-o-t. 'Gonna' is g-o-n-n-a. 'Write' w-r-i-t-e. 'French' f-r-e-n-c-h. I looked at what I had written. In French. I glared at it. This was going to take longer than I thought.

I tried for ten minutes, trying various speeds and concentrations. Writing nothing but French. I finally gave up and let out a frustrated scream, shoving everything off of the table and wrapping my arms around my head, trying to stay calm. No way was this happening. No way.


	11. Chapter 11

"I can't believe it," I muttered, fighting back tears of frustration. "Twenty-two years..." I dropped my head into my hands, squeezed my eyes shut to hold back the tears, and took a few deep breaths. "Two weeks, and it's all gone." I could feel the hot tears crawl down my face.

"What's gone?"

My head snapped up. Erik was standing casually just inside the room. "How long have you been standing there?" I asked, giving a sniff and trying to inconspicuously wipe away my tears.

"You didn't answer my question. We had an understanding."

"With conditions as clear as the water in the Milwaukee River back in Wisconsin." Damn. I had been waiting for the overly cliche' '_long enough'_ in answer to my question. Sigh. Well, judging by his silence, I'd say I lost him on my analogy. I grinned as I picked up the papers I had scattered. "The Milwaukee River is about the color of the wood panels on the wall--when it's not covered in algae or dyed green for Saint Patty's Day."

A slight pause. "That's disgusting." Another pause. "How do you dye an entire river green?"

"A _lot_ of green food dye. Thousands of _gallons_ of green food dye. Now what do you want?"

"Don't take that tone with me," he glared. "You are still only a guest in my home."

"Mm." Damn. He had a point. I put on my cheezy fake smile. "I'm sorry. What would the Great Opera Ghost want from little old me this time?"

"Don't push your luck any harder than you already are, girl," he growled. "You are already treading dangerous waters."

"So what?" I glared back. "If I push hard enough, maybe I can push it in front of an oncoming train or into a tank of piranhas. Maybe then I'll feel better!"

Erik just stood there, looking at me for a few moments. "Now, what could have gotten you so hot and bothered in the ten minutes I left you alone?"

"Nothing," I lied, sitting down on the edge of my bed, my back to Erik. "Absolutely nothing."

"You're not writing," he noted. As if that wasn't obvious from the eight feet between the desk and myself. "With the way you were acting, I was sure you would be occupied for at least a few hours." I clenched my jaw and squeezed my eyes shut. I shook my head stiffly. "You said you needed to write. For your sanity. So, write." Hot tears ran down my cheeks. I shook my head again and let it drop to my chest. "No?" he asked incredulously. "You come here, claim you can help me deal with that--that--_boy_, give me nothing but hell for the past two weeks, tell me that you _need_ to write or you'll lose your mind, and then _refuse_ to! What am I supposed to do with you?! You have yet to do anything useful. All you do is sit around and eat my food--"

"I can't write!" I yelled at him, spinning around on the bed. My eyes were still stinging with tears. "My fingers," I held up my hands, "won't write what my brain is telling them! No matter how hard I try. My brain speaks English. My hands and mouth speak French! Am I right? Am I speaking French right now? Cause my brain is understanding everything as English. I don't know French! I only know the few French words that made it into American English--but, hell, that's only made up of every god-damn language on this fucking planet! So, what difference does that make?!" I flopped myself down on the bed, burying my face in a pillow.

"Is that all?" Erik asked, annoyance still permeating his voice. "If you can understand it, what difference _does_ it make? Write or don't write. I don't care. Just be ready to give me the information I want tomorrow."

It's not the same, I wanted to tell him. It's not the same. You don't understand. I don't recognize any of it, but I know it's mine and I can read it. It's not the same. You don't understand. But I didn't say so. Cowardice or lack of energy--whatever. Maybe it was because I knew he was right. Because he was.

* * *

I was greeted the next morning by a blast of light when I rolled over. "Ooooooohhhh...Why are the lights on?"

"Because you've been in bed long enough."

"I just went to bed," I groaned before realizing where Erik's voice was coming from. I sprang to life, practically falling on the floor in my mad dash to my desk. "Get away from there! It's not done, you can't see!" I grabbed for the paper in his hand, but he pulled it out the way without taking his eyes off it.

"Is this the sort of dribble you write?" Erik asked, once more foiling my attempts to grab the paper.

"It's not dribble!" Another failed grab. "And it's not finished!" And another. "Give. It. Back! You're worse than Joshua!"

Erik stopped reading and stared at me. "Who's Joshua?" he demanded.

"My older brother and the bane of my existence." Changing my tactics, I put my hands on my hips and stared him down with the evil eye. "If it's such dribble, don't read it."

He tossed the page back on the desk. "Hmph. It's nearly impossible to read your handwriting anyway."

I snatched up the page and set it sideways on a stack of other pages I had written last night. I'd have to figure out where he took it from later. "Better than yours," I challenged. "Mine's just small. Your's is unintelligible."

Erik's hand was around my throat. I could feel every one of the bones in his hand, even through the glove he wore. "Do _not_ insult me, girl," he hissed, "or it will be the _last_ thing you ever do."

"All right! Chill, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it!" Erik's hand left my throat and my own went up. "Jeez. You _are_ worse than Joshua. At least _he_ can take a joke."

"Don't test my patience."

"You're no fun at all." I crossed my arms and pouted.

"It's time you started earning your keep."

"Fine." I sighed. "What do you want to know?"

* * *

**Shame-ed Begging:** (I dedicate this idea to Bleedingheartsconservative.) I really hope all of you are still reading. I haven't heard from anyone in such a long time! Please, tell me what you think. I need the encouragement the way a plant needs sunshine and Erik needs Christine! (inspirational reasons from the Erik metaphor) PLEASE people! I'm dying here!


	12. Chapter 12

"Everything" was Erik's answer. I threw my hands up and rolled my eyes, my head rolling right along with them.

"I can't tell you _everything_ I know," I said in exasperation. "Do you have any idea how _long_ it would take me to relate _everything_ I know--nearly sixteen years of schooling, a couple hundred movies I've seen, and a few _thousand_ books that I've read? And that's not even counting the things I classified as unimportant, therefore not worth memorizing!" Erik glowered at me. I immediately dropped my cheeky attitude. "All right. Fine. Could you be a little bit more specific, though?"

Erik took a moment to decide what to tell me. "This Saturday, the opera company is going to put on another performance of _Faust_. What's going to happen?"

I raised an eyebrow. "You expect me to know what happens at _every_ performance? This may or may not have made it as a noteable in the book, you know. I need a little bit more to work with here."

He hesitated again, crossing his arms. "Erik's secret," he said finally, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

"Erik's secret," I muttered with a sigh, rolling my eyes. "Fine. I think I know which one this is. Which day is it today, anyway?"

"Monday" was the terse reply.

"Fine. Another five days, then." I sighed again. How much would be safe to tell him? "Well, you can expect a tiff from the managers about your salary--as usual. Don't expect them to come to their senses by Saturday. After all, common sense is the least common of all the senses. Carlotta will insist upon singing--of course. Uuuummmmm, I th-h-hink they're going to be in Box Five as well--the managers, I mean. No, I'm almost positive they are. What else?" I could feel it. I was forgetting something. "What was it?...The chandelier! That was it! The chandelier is coming down that night."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Unless..." I thought hard about it.

"Unless what?" This was an important point. Neither one of us could afford to be wrong. My life and his reputation probably hung in the balance.

"Unless I'm mixing this up with one of the other versions..." When did it happen in the Leroux book?

"There are thousands of phan phics in my time and, like, fifty different official versions. Everyone keeps remaking them. It pisses me off. But back to the chandelier...I know the 2004 version happened at the _last_ performance, so the original _book_ version should have happened on the Saturday performance." I blew a stream of air out the corner of my mouth as I thought. "Yep." I nodded, satisfied. "This performance. The chandelier is coming down! WHEEEE!!" I threw my hands up in the air and plastered a stupid excited grin on my face. As quickly as that outburst happened, it disappeared, and I looked sheepishly at Erik with my hands behind my back. "Sorry. I sometimes randomly do that."

He gave me an odd look--probably raised an eyebrow under that mask of his, too. "Is that all you have?"

I rolled my eyes again. "No, but I'm only going to tell you two more things--the only person killed in the chandelier crash is Madam Giry's replacement and your Persian friend is going to be bothering you some more." I tilted my head to the side and gave a small smile.

Erik tensed. "The daroga?! Again?! Why?!"

I shrugged. "It has something to do with your secret and the fact that he thinks you made the chandelier fall. Or--will think...Damn future events!" I threw my hands up in frustration. I was so not used to talking about what _will_ happen. "It's so much easier to not know and not care!"

Erik took a threatening step towards me. "You know Erik's secret?!"

"Of course I know," I puffed matter-of-factly and crossed my arms. "You didn't think something that big would escape the notice of a book _about_ the Phantom of the Opera, did you?"

"You will tell no one Erik's secret," he growled.

I blinked, my face blank. "Of course not," I said honestly, throwing him a bit off guard. "Why would I tell anyone? It's none of their business and it's really none of mine. I'm just here for advice and support."

My response seemed to confound him. How do you respond to such honesty when you expect treachery? Finally he let out another irritated growl as he turned and walked away. I sighed. At the door, Erik turned back towards me. "And from which way, pray tell, is the good daroga going to be bothering me?" he asked in an irritated sarcastic voice.

"The lake," I answered, a tinge of sadness in my voice. "I only know of twice, but it's the lake both times." He turned to go again. "Erik," he paused, "I wish you would trust me more. I only want to help you."

Erik left without another word, and I was left to myself. I sighed again. Christine was coming at the end of the week. Counting today and Saturday (cause she wasn't due until that night), there were six days until the beginning of the end. And at the end of the end, Erik was going to die. Everything was happening much faster than I had thought it would. It wasn't a year and a half long story. It was only a matter of weeks--maybe two or three months. No, two months. If I was lucky. It had already been what? Two weeks? Christine would be here for another two. That made one month. How long did the rest of the story take? I couldn't remember. But Christine's arrival at Erik's house marked the beginning of the end of the story--of that I was certain. I sighed again and looked down at what I was wearing.

"Well, the least I can do is stop wearing my day clothes to bed!" I scolded myself as I started to change into new clothes.

* * *

**THE SHAME-ED BEGGING--**_Yes, I am keeping this up. It seems to be working. I got the most reviews using this! WHEEEE! But I must ask that you guys keep reviewing. It makes me sooo happy to know that I am keeping true to the characters and story. So please--_press da purple button.


	13. Chapter 13

Breakfast was quietly eaten by me while Erik supervised. Does he really have to do that? Honestly. I'm asking you. Does he really need to watch me eat? It's really unnerving.

Afterwards, I went back to my room to write some more, but instead of thinking about my stories, I started thinking about _this_ story. And all the technicalities. Like--Christine was supposed to live down here for two weeks. I'm not supposed to be here at all. And Erik only _has_ one extra bedroom. The one I've been calling mine is really Christine's room. Oh, boy. We have a problem.

And Erik still doesn't really trust me, as far as I can tell, which means he's going to want me close so he can keep an eye on me. We'd better make that a BIG problem. I have to avoid contact with Raoul, Christine, and the Persian at all possible costs. That means that I can't stay here--or with the Persian (which seems to be a popular alternative to staying with Erik from all the fanfictions I've read). I'm not supposed to be here, which means that they can't know of me or they will tell Leroux about me, and Leroux will include me in his book, which I'm not supposed to be in.

Now, Erik will want me close, but I can't stay here. So, unless Erik wants to put me up in a hotel, I'm stuck. He may or may not do it, tempermental as he is. This was really started to eat at me, so I decided that it was best to track Erik down and get a definitive answer.

I don't know whether to call it hard or easy to track down this ghost in his own home. My only clue was the very intermittent snatches of organ music that floated through the air. I guess that would make it easy, since I know his organ is in his room. I didn't want to interrupt his composing, but I really needed to talk to him. Pausing outside his door, I took a breath, knocked, and entered.

Erik had turned around on his bench and was staring at me, as if--I don't know--I was one of those really annoying gnats that buzz around your head and you can't get them to leave. I, however, was entranced by the room. It was magnificent! In a gloomy-goth sort of way. The walls were entirely black and hung with black drapes. A three-foot musical staff ran along the edge of the ceiling, never-ending and seeming to repeat over and over again. Behind Erik sat a keyboard that filled the entire wall--his organ. _Don Juan_ sat open on the desk. I knew it by the the red notes that filled the pages, even though I wasn't close enough to read the title. And best of all--oh, this made my skin tingle!--in the middle of the room sat Erik's open coffin, made entirely of a black wood, though I'm not sure which kind exactly. A canopy of red brocade hung over the top of it, framing it. I wanted to run over to it, wrap myself in the brocade, feel its texture, smell its scent. I wanted to glide my fingers over the cool, smooth wood, lay in the coffin, maybe even have Erik shut me in for a while. It was magnificent! Everything! I wanted to do so much in this room, this holy ground for all Erik phanatics, but I couldn't do any of it. It was an unspoken forbidden.

"What do you want?" Erik asked tartly, breaking me out of my reverie.

"Huh? Oh, sorry. Your room distracted me. It's so--"

"Morbid," he finished.

"Pretty," I corrected, a smile dancing across my lips and my eyes still taking in the scene.

Erik was taken aback by my facination/drooling-over his room. But it was so pretty! (girly smile and claps hands together excitedly) Personally, I'd add a few dragons around the room to finish the awesomeness of it, but that's just me. Erik narrowed his eyes. "Aaaand?"

"Oh, right. I wanted to talk to you about Saturday."

"What about Saturday?" He didn't sound pleased to be talking about it.

"Where do you want me to be?"

"Here." Like I should have known.

"No, I mean _after_ Christine gets here."

Erik froze. Obviously he had not thought that far ahead. "Exactly _how much_ do you know--?!" He started to get up and storm over, but I interrupted his demand.

"And there you go changing the subject again! You know, it's really hard to know anything when the only person who knows anything _won't tell you a damn thing!_"

"Says the person who knows everything," Erik hissed.

"No," I pointedemphatically at him, my blood starting to boil. "I don't know everything. I know _specific instances_. Specific instances from books and movies that I've always been told were _fantasies_! I have NO IDEA what is actually happening!"

"Than WHAT am I keeping you alive for?! You know FAR too much for your own good!"

"And I know too much for your good." I looked down at the floor and sighed. I felt like I was going to cry. I was only an assett to him. "I can't stay here while Christine's here, I know that. For more than one reason. With your permission, I'd like to stay in a near-by hotel or something for as long as you want me to. I'll follow any rules you set down."

Erik narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, shifting his weight a little. "And why should I believe that you'd _follow_ any rules I set down? You could disappear any time you wanted. And _who_ would be _paying_ for this hotel room?"

I lowered my head even more. "You would," was my meek reply. I wasn't looking, but I could feel his glare radiating towards me, burning. After what seemed like forever, I finally admitted, a bit angrily, "If I had the money, I'd pay for it myself, all right?! And it's not like I want to leave, I have to. If I stay, I will not be held responsible for any mysterious bloody knife wounds that Christine may or may not get..." And I walked out, slamming the door behind me.

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**Shame-ed Begging:** Aaahhh! Another chapter completed. I'm hoping some more reviews will arrive to accompany it...please?


	14. Chapter 14

Men. Now I remember why I don't like to date. The only ones who understand and listen to you are in books--and _stay_ in the books. For someone I've admired for being the dark, misunderstood hero, Erik sure is a jerk in person. He doesn't quite seem able to grasp the fact that I. can't. stay. here. I'd screw with the timeline. I'd probably end up killing Christine.

Christine.

Oh, God.

I just threatened Christine's life. You never _ever_ threaten Christine's life. Especially to Erik's face. Oh, God. I am a dead woman. I. am going. to die. Painfully and bloodily. (Even though I don't think 'bloodily' is a word. It is now. Shush.)

I had been headed to the library for a new book, but I immediately made a course correction and made a mad dash for the bathroom in my room, locking the door behind me. I started to pace the small length of the room, my hands constantly moving I was so freaked out. "Oh, God. Oh god oh god oh god. Oh God! I did not just say that. I did **not** just threaten Christine. It was just my imagination. I thought it mentally." I sat with my back against the door and buried my head in my hands, groaning. "And it came out my mouth! I can't believe I said that! I'm an idiot!"

The doornob jiggled. "All right. Come on out." Erik did not sound happy. No way was I coming out.

"Aaah...Jesse's not here! Just her cat. Raow? Try the library, prrrrrrrrrrrrrrr..." Stupid, I know.

"Out."

"Me-out?" I asked as cat-like as possible and scratched the door a little. "Me-out? Hewoah? Me-out?"

"NOW!" he thundered inside the bathroom.

At first I was frozen, but then I scrambled to my feet, unlocked the door, and peeked out. "You can do the God-voice?" I whispered, awed. "I thought only dads could do the God-voice..."

"Get out here." He had his arms crossed again, and he looked like my brother did right before he punched through a wall.

I cringed back, but you don't argue with the God-voice. Ever. So I slowly opened the door, trying to look as small as possible. "I didn't know you could do the God-voice..."

"Out," he repeated with a growl.

I slunk out and sat on the bed. "And you can do it _while_ doing ventriloquism. So cool..."

Erik didn't seem quite so mad now. Probably a good thing for me. "You realize that was a stupid thing to do."

"Which one?" I curled my legs up on the bed under my skirt. "Cause locking myself in the bathroom was probably the smartest thing I've done so far." Doesn't say much for the rest of what I've done. I slid my hand under my skirt and slowly pet the scorpion tattooed on my ankle.

I think he raised an eyebrow. _"Threatening Christine_ was not very intelligent."

"Why do you think I was hiding?" I asked, giving him a face somewhere between an awkward grin and 'aw shit.' "That was...one of my worse moments of open-mouth-insert-foot."

He kind of glared at me. "And _why_, incidentally, did you do it? You knew there would be consequences to it--knew I would not over look such a thing."

I bit down on the edge of my thumb nail and looked away, my other hand grabbing my tattooed ankle. "No reason."

"Answer me," he growled, taking a step towards me.

"No reason." None I can say.

"You're not telling me something, girl. What is it?"

"Nothing!" I snapped. "Okay? It's nothing. And I do have a name, Erik."

He growled and pulled me off the bed by my arm, staring me down until I dropped my gaze. He didn't have to threaten me out load. I knew what that look meant from growing up with my older brother.

"I don't like her, okay? No reason. No good one." That I could tell him. "I just don't like her. To me, she's just the ditzy blonde--the kind who give the rest of us a bad name, but get all the lucky breaks. I just don't like her." And I'd kill her, if it didn't mess up the timeline. But I wasn't going to tell him that.

"You don't know anything about her," Erik spat defensively, throwing my arm back at me. "She is an angel with a pure soul and a heavenly voice. There is nothing _ditzy_ about her. You would do well to remember that." This time he stormed out of the room and slammed the door.

I wanted to tell him what this angel would do. Betray him. Stomp on his heart. Kill him eventually and slowly. But I couldn't. Not yet, anyway. Later I could. Much later.

I spent the next two days in my room, mostly avoiding Erik. I tried to give him his space, staying out of his way and letting him plan. When we--or, more correctly, I--ate, I smiled and was polite, but I didn't press any issues. It felt like being back in the grade or high school cafeteria, being sourrounded by people with no one to talk to. I spent the time in my room as best I could, reading and writing. Never before had I missed Katie so much. Katie and I could have easily spent those two days talking and role playing. We would have been so involved in our joint stories that not even meals would have been enough to make us quit stoytelling. On occassion, Erik would even play. Not for me, I could just hear it through the walls. His playing was unique, to say the least. No one could ever fully reproduce that beautiful music. It made me want to sing, despite the fact that Erik would probably hear and critique me. And I actually sang. The more I sang, the less I thought about it and just sang. I sang things like _Carry Me, Whispering Jesse, Corner of the Sky, _and _Eagle and The Hawk_. By _Eagle and the Hawk_, I had forgotten to keep my voice down and was singing like I always did back home.

_"Oh, I'm the eagle. I live in high country,_

_and rocky cathedrals that reach to the sky._

_I am the hawk, and there's blood on my feathers,_

_but time is still turning._

_They soon will be dry._

_And all those who see me, and all who believe in me_

_share in the freedom I feel when I fly!_

_"Come dance with the west wind and touch on the mountaintops._

_Sail o'er the canyons and up to the stars._

_And reach for the heavens, and hope for the future,_

_and all that we can be. Not just what we are."_

As I finished, I thought I heard my door softly close behind me. I spun around, but no one was there. Had Erik been listening to me? How horrid had my singing actually been? I didn't think he was listening! The only thing to do now was to apologize for annoying him.

"Erik?" I asked, tentatively coming out of my room.

"What?" he called from the parlor.

I took a deep breath before walking in by him. He just seemed to be waiting for me. "I-I'm sorry if I was annoying you. I was trying to be quiet."

"What makes you think you were annoying me?"

"I know my voice is horrid, all right? It's no where near as good as your Christine's. I have three brothers who remind me constantly how off-key and annoying my singing is. I just came out to say I was sorry for annoying you." I turned around and started to walk out. "I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing."

"Just how many siblings do you have?" Erik asked suddenly.

"Four--three brothers, one sister. Why?" He surprised me a bit with his question.

"You mention them all the time."

"Oh. Sorry. I don't mean to. It's probably because Joshua acts a lot like you. He'd make a good phantom."

"Surely you jest," Erik said, taken aback.

"I'm serious. Back in high school, the Traveling Choir sang songs from the newest movie version of this, and my brother got to play you. The mask they had fit him perfectly, he could appear and disappear on the stage without you noticing, and his voice was awesome."

"You know that means nothing..."

I shrugged and walked away. "Whatever."

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**Shame-ed Begging:** So, longer chapters mean more reviews...right? ...please?


	15. Chapter 15

I went into the library, trying to distract myself. Being alone in your room does tend to get kind of boring. I was hoping I could find another book to read. Erik, however, was only a few minutes behind me.

"You dismiss yourself as if you are nothing. Why?"

"You dismiss good musical talent and call it nothing. Why?" I asked disinterestedly. He flinched. I swear I saw him flinch. I sighed. "Don't go asking about me unless you want me asking about you." I turned away from him and started looking at the books again.

"What happens after Christine arrives? Does everything go according to plan?" he asked finally.

I froze. He wasn't supposed to ask. I was praying that he wasn't going to ask. But he did. "Why do you want to know?" I asked, my voice shaking slightly.

"It doesn't matter why. Just tell me."

"You're worried, aren't you?" I turned towards him, trying to hide my own worry. "You're worried that you're going to do something wrong--scare her away--"

"No!"

"You're not sure this is the right thing to do--"

"Listen to me," he hissed, at my throat already. "You will answer my questions, and only my questions. I don't want to hear you say anything else..."

I nodded, silently praying that he kept his temper. Erik released me, and I nervously licked my lips, thinking of a good way to tell him. "I...can't tell you." I flinched this time as Erik tensed up. "It's not that I don't want to, mind you," I said quickly. "It's that if I tell you everything goes well, you'll feel comfortable with whatever you have planned already and not make any last minute changes that you would have otherwise have made. If I tell you it goes badly, you'll either change everything drastically, or not bring her down at all. Anyway you look at it, it'll throw the timeline for a loop and leave everything in a confusing paradox. I'd rather not do that."

"You only have to do one thing for me to stay here--"

"I know. But I still can't tell you."

"ONE thing..." He was trying hard not to hurt me, I could tell.

"I know!" I walked away, keeping my distance. "Just answer your questions! But I can't do that if it ends up changing everything that's going to happen!"

"It _won't_ change _any_thing," he growled.

"You don't know that! Anything I tell you about her time here could seriously alter what would happen normally! I don't like it either, okay?!" God, how I hated it. How I so wanted to warn him about Christine. To prevent him from ever getting hurt.

"There is nothing preventing you from telling me!" Erik yelled, following me about the room, though I kept my distance.

"PARADOXES! ENDLESS PARADOXES!!"

"At least tell me what you think! Anything at all!"

"You really wanna know what I think?!"

"Yes! I do!"

"Fine!" I stalked over to him. "You're a fucking idiot!" I ripped off his mask with one hand and pulled his head down to mine with the other. At first I kissed him roughly, but after a few long seconds, my anger and frustration gave way to the admiration (for I can't think of any other word for it) that I have felt for the man since I saw the Webber movie—which was re-enforced by the Leroux book that I then read in one day. As I softened, my kiss did as well, and I slipped my tongue into his slightly opened mouth (my guess from surprise), letting him know what I really thought of him.

When I pulled away, I thrust his mask back into his chest and let it go. I stormed back to my room and slammed the door. I didn't look at him, and I didn't say a word. My anger was spent, and I was trying desperately not to cry. Once in my room, I flopped down on my bed, stuffed my head under my pillow, and let myself cry—in my strange not-quite-audible nearly-hyperventilating way.

So there you have it. Christine was neither the first nor the only person to give Erik a kiss. I should have been ecstatic. I had just lived one of the dreams that we phangirls dream about. So please, all you FF phangirls, don't hurt my present self. She has _not_ kissed the Phantom. I did, and I'm a little over a century in the past, so it would be a little hard to hurt me, but still….

I wasn't happy. I was crying—crying because of the fight and how I couldn't do anything to prevent his getting hurt without screwing up the timeline—and crying because I _had _to unmask him to kiss him and I didn't give him any warning and I had probably hurt him by unmasking him and he probably misinterpreted why I left the room and why I didn't say anything and why I didn't look at him and why I was now crying…

I heard Erik start to play. There were so many emotions put into the music, I don't really know how to describe it to you. Confusion, uncertainty, hurt maybe—I don't know. It called to me though.

He didn't start playing right away—right after I left. It was several minutes later. As I calmed down, I imagined Erik staring at me as I stalked off—surprised, shocked, unable to find words to say. He stood there, mask in hand, mouth open. He would have looked down at his mask and then back up at my door. I don't know when he would have put his mask back on, but he'd have walked up to my door, stopped, not known what to say or do, gone to a different portion of the house, felt like now was not the time to do whatever else he could have done, come back to my door, still not known what to do once inside, and left for the solace of his music. There he would have sat in front of the keys, staring at them. Then his fingers would've gently stroked the keys, not really playing at first, as he tried to figure out how to put his conflicting emotions into music. Finally he would have started to play.

Of course, I have no way of knowing for sure—my head _was_ under my pillow.

I had calmed down, and, well, I wanted to talk to Erik. Not yell, or scream, or be evasive about what was going to happen. Just talk—and more than likely, apologize.

I stood outside his door and raised my hand to knock…but dropped it after only a few seconds. Perhaps I shouldn't bother him. I could wait until he came out.—No. He could continue playing for minutes or hours. It was impossible to ever tell. I could just walk in.—But then I would be intruding upon his sanctuary. I could knock.—And most likely end up having an awkward conversation in the doorway.

I walked in.

Erik kept playing. I leaned against the wall by the door, and Erik just kept playing. His music called to me. I can't give words to all the emotions I felt and heard, but I felt like I knew each and every one. I just stood there, nervous and embarrassed, waiting for him to stop or say something. I opened my mouth several times to say something myself, but didn't. I just couldn't interrupt. It just isn't in my nature.

"What do you want?" he asked without stopping.

"I'm sorry." And I meant it. I started to leave.

He stopped abruptly in the middle of a chord and stood, turning to face me. His mask was back on. "For?"

I turned back to him. I felt like crying again. "For yelling. For insulting you. For ripping your mask off like that, and for any wrong impressions I might have given you."

"And what wrong impressions might you have given me?"

I bit my lower lip and swallowed back some tears. "When I left—I left because—because I don't let people see me cry. That's all."

"You are a woman. Women are allowed to cry."

"Tears mean that someone has upset you, and once they have upset you once, they know they can do it again and again. I don't cry anymore. I threaten to beat them into the ground. They leave me alone then."

"So you _want_ to be left alone?" He asked as if he was finally starting to understand me.

I was blinking rapidly now and swallowing constantly, fighting back tears and sobs. "I-I'm _used_ to it. At least when they ignore me, I don't get insulted and picked on!"

I couldn't stay there anymore. I ran out of the room and into the living room. I'd spent too much time in my room to want to go back, and there were no comfortable places in the library to curl up and cry. The sofa, on the other hand, was a perfect place to curl up. Let Erik do whatever he wanted. It's not like I could do anything to change it anyways.

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**Shame-ed Begging:** I know it's been a long time, so I'm begging for two things this time. 1) Please don't hurt me! 2) Reviews? Pretty please? I have a nice long chappie this time for you all! (innocent grin--grovel)


	16. Chapter 16

This next part of the story takes place later that night, while all these thoughts were still fresh in our minds. I'm going to relate it to you not through my point of view as I have done so far, but as it has been told to me, for I was asleep at the time and only vaguely remember any of it. I assure you, it was quite some time before I got Erik to admit to any of this.

I was tossing and turning, half asleep and fighting with elusive dreams that would neither come nor leave. Erik came in, he says, because he heard my restless sleep—but I believe it was because he wanted to watch me sleep while he tried to think. It would have fit his personality better. But, he came in, stood uncertainly for a few moments, and then came to my bedside to try to calm me. At first he didn't want to touch me, his skeletal hands hovering over me. How would I react? Would I wake up and start from him? Surely it was still faux pas in my time to touch a woman while she was sleeping—no matter how innocent the touch. No, he would risk it. He would risk it to help—dare he say it? —his friend.

He intended to put his hand down on my shoulder, on top of the comforter that I had pulled up to my chin; however, Luck would hear nothing of it. Just as Erik put his hand down, I turned again in my sleep and the comforter slipped down, baring the warm skin of my shoulder to his touch. He knelt beside me in shock as I first recoiled slightly at the sudden cold, then seemed to welcome it by raising my shoulder as I lowered and turned my head to meet it.

His hand, though, was removed at the first sign of my recoil. A bare shoulder? Perhaps my chemise had just fallen off of that shoulder while I had been turning. Yes, that had to be it. Nothing more. Perhaps if he sang something instead—something soothing, something to help me sleep. After all, I seemed to enjoy music just as much as he did—maybe not quite as much. But I would listen to him play for hours, just sitting there, listening. Yes. A song would do. A lullaby, maybe.

He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned against the headboard, trying to think of how to start. No one had ever sung one to him before. He sat there, watching, thinking, and Luck played another cruel joke on the man. Yet another elusive dream caused me to roll back onto my back, but my comforter was pinned beneath me and Erik, so it slid down further on my body as I slid further up on my pillows. And, well, the comforter resting a good two inches below my bare breasts did not help Erik's memory at all.

Later, while we where having this discussion about what had happened, Erik asked, "Did you always sleep like that?" When I answered in the affirmative—at least, after the first couple nights with him—he said, with tears streaming down his face, "And to think, you trusted me enough to not do anything to you to sleep like that every night, when it could have been so easy for me to—to—" He was shaking and crying so hard at that point, he never did finish his sentence, but he didn't need to.

But back to that night.

Erik just sat there, in awe of one (or two if you want to count them separately) of the beautiful defining features of womanhood. He couldn't catch his breath. Christine's had always seemed so delicate and petite in her dresses, like the rest of her. Mine—mine seemed 'full and inviting,' as he described it, as they 'spilled slightly over the edges of (my) chest.' You can see why it took so long to get him to admit to this. As he stared, the thought crossed his mind, _There is no way her chemise slid that far down her body._ But then he recovered enough of his senses to attempt to pull the comforter back up. He reached over, gently took hold of the top edge of the comforter, and I turned again. This time towards him. He was sitting close enough to me, or perhaps I was close enough to him, that my face rested on his thigh, as if using it for a pillow, and my breasts ended up being pressed against his thigh as well. I'm sure he could have handled this in and of itself, but, well, again Luck was against him. He is a devious fellow, this Luck, and I'm not sure what he had against Erik that night, but the results were quite…awkward. If Erik had not been there, my hand would have come to rest beside my head, but there he was. My arm and hand more or less ended up in his lap, with my fingers lightly brushing his manhood. _I swear, I was asleep, it was not my fault! _And if this was not awkward enough, my dreams calmed down and let me relax, and I unconsciously snuggled up closer to Erik. It was as if it was his touch that calmed me and so I rubbed my face against his leg, trying to get a little closer to the calming source. My hand—now, I must repeat my earlier claim. The me that is posting this, or that isn't posting this but is alive in the world, DID NOT DO THIS. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT subject her to any sort of violence. Thank you. My hand slid upwards a bit, and well, ended up, um, caressing his manhood… Now, he couldn't rightly move now that I had more or less fallen asleep on top of him. He didn't want to wake me, but, well, this was more than a little awkward of a situation that he had gotten himself into. He sat there awkwardly for almost a minute as I lay quite oblivious to what I was doing. Finally, he took a deep breath, carefully picked me up a little, and removed himself from under me, laying me back down on the bed. He sighed in relief, but I gave a soft moan and tried to find him again in my sleep. He wasn't there. He wasn't even on the bed anymore. Finding me calm now, and not so troubled by my sleep, Erik slipped out of my room. I'm sure he thought it was better for him to try to think someplace else—especially now that I had subconsciously given him something else to think about.

The next morning, I woke up, unaware that Erik had been in my room at all the previous night, and went to breakfast.

"Morning," I mumbled, conscious of the note we had ended on the night before. I had no idea how the unpredictable Erik was going to react after that particular screaming episode.

He didn't say a word, actually. He just sat there with his Russian tea and watched me as I dished out my breakfast. He was staring at me. I hate it when he stares at me. Finally I had to ask.

"What?" I had an icy chill to my voice.

He hesitated for a moment. "What do they mean?"

"What does who mean for what?"

"The runes on your shoulder."

I put my fork down and stared icily at him. "What runes on my shoulder?"

"The runes on your left shoulder." He traced the curving outline of my tattoo in the air from across the table.

"And _how_ do you know I have that tattoo there?" I kept the icy stare and tone. Maybe it would keep the awkwardness away. But then there was that tattoo. I had never shown it—or the others—to him, and even my t-shirt had sleeves long enough to cover it.

"I saw it when I brought you in the first night."

I snorted and began eating again. "I'm surprised you didn't say anything sooner, then."

"I was trying to figure it out for myself. But I don't recognize any of the runes—or, at least, they are a different type than I'm used to." And I believed every lie that came out of his mouth. I found out later, along with the sleeping episode, that he had first seen it the night before, while I had been tossing and turning.

"Not all who wander are lost."

"Interesting. What's it from?"

I glanced up at him, careful to keep my face as blank as possible. My eyebrow twitched. "A book that probably won't be published for another century. It was said by Gandalf the Gray in a note he had left for the Hobbits when he was in Bree. He was describing a friend of his that they were sure to encounter and wanted them to trust his friend while being careful for enemies."

Erik slowly nodded. I knew a lot of that made no sense to him whatsoever, but he was not about to let it show. "What language?"

"Elven runes."

"Elves," he said incredulously.

"Yes, elves. I'd explain, but it would take a long time to tell everything I know about all six sub-races—and I'm not referring to _'Santa's little helpers,'_" I said that bit with such fake enthusiasm that it hurt. "Those are gnomes. Not elves. Elves would never reduce themselves to serve a human. And not the tricksters in the forests either. Those would be gnomes, again, or sprites or leprechauns. Not. Elves."

"Sleepless night?"

"What do _you_ care?" Really I was just trying to hide my own awkwardness. But then again, it was hard to tell if he ever really cared about anything I was doing or how I was feeling at all. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn't, and it gave me a headache to try and figure out if I was still only an asset to him or not.

Erik didn't say anything, only took another drink of his tea.

I finished the rest of my food in silence, refusing to look up at him. Afterwards, I got up and went to the library without a word. I still couldn't believe I had actually kissed Erik the day before. I mean, how had I lost it that much? I knew I had to let things go according to the novel, and here I was, potentially screwing it up with a kiss. I had more self-control than that--didn't I? But then again, Erik hadn't said anything about it today, so maybe it was okay.

I was reclining sideways in the big comfy reading chair in the library while I was thinking and trying to sort things out. My skirt had fallen back down into the cradle of my lap.

"You know, you really shouldn't sit like that."

"So?" Erik was back in the room. "And I'm not really sitting. I'm reclining." I didn't even bother to move my head or open my eyes.

There was a long pause. "What is that?"

"What is what?"

"That--on your leg." He came up right beside me. "And on your ankle."

I casually looked. "A mountain lion and a scorpion." The lion was stalking down my right thigh, and the scorpion had its tail wrapped around my left ankle and was sitting on my foot. "What? You don't approve of my tattoos?"

"Why mark up your body with three--"

"I have four. And they're symbolic decoration."

"Four?! And for what?!"

I rolled my eyes. "Well, first of all, I'm a Scorpio." I made a circle with my tattooed foot. "Secondly, the mountain lion--or puma or cougar, as it's called--is the native american symbol for strength, self-confidence, cunning, and wise leadership. It's a harbinger of death, and an avenue to speak with spirits because it's a spirit guide. And one of my favorite animals."

"And what about this supposed fourth one?"

"And _why_ do you need to know?" I stared up icily at him. I really didn't feel like telling him. I had no idea how he would react to the black--or skull, as it's sometimes called--dragon on my back. "Besides, I don't feel like getting up to show you."

He had had it. Erik grabbed my arm and pulled me off of the chair and onto my feet. "I am getting sick and tired of your attitude with me," he seethed.

"Yeah? Well, you and the rest of this god-damn world can go to hell," I snarled, easily turning my confused feelings into anger. I've had so much practice over the years, after all.

And that's when Erik did the one thing I never expected him to do. He hit me. He retained enough control to not use his fist, but he still slapped me hard enough to send me to the floor. I laid there for a while, stunned, my hand up, but not quite touching the large seemingly raw patch of my face. My breathing was short and labored, an emptiness resided in my stomach, like it had dropped out, my face was stinging like crazy—pulsating, really. I could feel the tears that were threatening my composure, and my whole body shook as I fought for control.

I set my face in a stony hate-filled stare before I shot a glance back up at him, and then I got up and left. I had to leave. I was afraid he would see past my flimsy mask, afraid it would break and let him see how hurt I really was, afraid that the tears would begin to fall before I got back to the safety of my room. There was only one other time that I can recall that was like this. That one time when Chris—not pirate Chris, girl Chris, my first roommate—bit me. It was the same kind of feeling, the same kind of hurt and sense of betrayal. I had trusted him, thought of him as a friend, someone I never expected to hurt me physically, no matter how heated our arguments.

I barely made it back to my room by the time the tears made it through. I was quite literally choking on tears trying to hold them back. I leaned against the inside of my door and slid down to the floor, tears flowing down my cheeks, burning the mark Erik had left. I started coughing violently through my hyperventilation, unable to breathe either way. I couldn't believe that he had done that. No one had ever… I reached up to touch the mark, but instantly recoiled in pain. I must have sat there for a good fifteen minutes, half an hour before I got up—and it was only because Erik had started playing in his room. I could hear it. It would change rapidly from anger to hurt to regret to sorrow to any number of emotions that don't have names. I could hear it, and I didn't want to. To try to hide and drown it out, I crawled under the covers in my bed, not only pulling the covers over my head, but holding the pillows down on top as well. It didn't really work and was aggravating my burning bruise, so I ditched the pillows and just lay curled up under the covers, crying.

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**Shame-ed Begging:** As requested, here's another chapter for all of you. Quite a long one for me, too. I must admit, I was a bit hesitant to post this one becuase of the first scene. After all, I'm trying to keep this clean, and, well, I know there are a lot of Erik phans out there. So, what do you think? Honestly?


	17. Chapter 17

I didn't come out until the next day—and that was only because I hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours.

I could hear Erik come in a few times. Others I could almost swear I felt his presence in the room. But I didn't come out. I didn't want to talk to him, didn't want to see him, or have him see me. I didn't want anything to do with him. But by the next day, I needed some food. The first time I started to venture out of my bed, I spotted Erik and quickly disappeared again. I wasn't ready for him yet. The next time I tried, Erik was no where to be seen, and I ventured to the plate of food that he had left me. I managed to down some of it, but my stomach was having a serious rebellion against this 'new concept of food.' Have you ever had the feeling that you're so hungry that you can't eat? That's what I was feeling—and it wasn't pleasant. Along with the food, Erik had left a vase with two roses in it, one pink, and one white. And no, they didn't have black ribbons tied around the stems. I think I remember reading somewhere that white roses were for new beginnings and pink were for friendship, and they both stood for sympathy—or something like that. But I could be wrong. They looked and smelled beautiful, and they made me smile a little bit, but they made me a little sad, too. I guess Erik was trying to say that he was sorry, but I just wasn't ready to face the world yet—even if my world consisted entirely of Erik and this house. Maybe because of it. I don't know. I may have crawled back into bed to hide, but I first moved the vase and roses to a stand right next to my bed. Hopefully Erik would get the message.

I didn't come out again until later that night. Erik had come and gone a few more times, but I stayed hidden. I waited until it was late at night and all was quiet before I ventured out of my room for the first time in two days. I smoothed out my clothes and brushed out my hair before I left, though. I hate looking like crap, and well, not brushing your hair for two days'll do that. I made sure, however, to part my hair on the right side, letting my blond hair fall over my left, hiding the still painful, now yellow-green-ish-purple bruise. Just one of the many times I was glad I let my bangs grow out all those years ago.

Finally I was ready to expand my tiny bubble of a world. I took a deep breath and ventured out, hoping beyond hope that Erik was gone. Out and about. Maybe watching his precious Christine sleep or something. Just because I wanted to leave the confines of my room didn't mean that I wanted to see the one who hurt me and betrayed my trust.

I had a few hours to myself, so I did a few odd things that would have just looked stupid if anyone had been watching. One of which was just looking in all the rooms but Erik's, mine, and a very heavy looking steel doored one. I can say very positively that Webber had it wrong, no matter how much it has been phanfic-ed about. There is no swan or phoenix shaped bed in this whole house. And about those three rooms—I know for a fact it's not in mine, Erik's I have seen into—there's a coffin, an organ, and a wardrobe. That's it.—and I'm pretty sure the third room is the torture chamber. No swan bed in there. No swan bed anywhere. Deal with it, girls.

I was just going back to my room for the night when I heard a slight noise. I looked, and there was the one person I really didn't want to see. I froze and a tremor coursed through my body. I had a pained expression on my face—one that begged the question "why?" Then I turned away, retreating once more to my room. I don't think he saw my face. My hair was still in the way. But it was the first time I acknowledged him since he hit me, and the first time I had left the room.

The next morning, I actually made it to breakfast. Erik was sitting in his usual spot. He seemed to be brooding more than normally. I don't think he expected me to show up—hoped, maybe—but not expected. My place was set like every previous morning, but I'm sure he had convinced himself it was a pointless effort. My arrival must have been something of a shock. I only gave him a flicker of a glance as I came in, my hair down to cover the bruise, and I quickly turned my attention to the floor as I walked. I heard his cup clatter and his chair get pushed back. I tried to ignore him, but he stopped me by grabbing my shoulder. I let him. If he wanted to see, then he could see. If not, well then. I just wasn't going to look at him. He gently pushed back the hair, careful not to actually touch my cheek, and I heard a sharp intake of breath.

"My god," he breathed almost inaudibly. What he saw was not just a bruise. It was a yellow-green-ish-purple handprint, only vaguely fuzzy around the edges from surrounding damage. His handprint, to be exact. I could feel his fingers just hovering off of my cheek, wanting to touch it, but dreading to. I waited, but he didn't touch it. Instead, he dropped my hair back into place and backed up. I imagine that there was something akin to horror on his face, beneath the mask. How could he have done that to a woman?

I ignored him as I sat down and got some food. I heard him flop down in his chair and could sense the guilt and sorrow that was practically oozing out of him. We both tend to go to extremes, and if I didn't do something soon, I was willing to bet that we were both going to be deeply depressed, if not suicidal, within the next hour.

"Next time, try using the back of your hand. And preferably your weaker arm." I glanced up at him, trying to force through a small smile, but I don't think it got through.

"How can you say something like that? How can you even stand to be in the same room with me?" he moaned.

"Because two suicidal maniacs is not a happy thought. Although, I've never actually managed to commit suicide before…" There was a slight pause before I heard a muffled snort.

"How can you joke about death like that? Most people are terrified of it."

"Why fear something you can't change? I accept it as a part of life. And I'm just gonna chalk this incident up with the time I almost burned a building down, or when my roommate bit me."

"What?"

"Hey, that indoor campfire _seemed_ like a good idea at the time. It only goes to show that stupidity sometimes comes in the form of genius."

"..._Who_ bit you?"

"My roommate. From college a couple years ago. I remember trying to strangle her after that, but not much else. We didn't talk for like a week afterwards, and she moved out of the room. We're still friends, we just can't live together."

Erik just shook his head and let the rest of the meal pass in silence. I don't think he really wanted to know anything more about the matter.

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**Shame-ed begging:** So, it's not a sad moment I ended on this time. I honestly have no idea how many more are in store for you guys. Erik has a way of upsetting the narrator without even trying, it seems. So, a few more reviews for me? One of you all noted that I don't seem to have enough for such a good story. I've noted that a lot of you are reading, but I don't get that many reviews. What's up, people?


	18. Chapter 18

Whether or not I wanted to admit it, Christine was due to arrive later that day. I had managed to spend my remaining time with Erik locked in my--er, Christine's--room, hiding from Erik. Not exactly how I planned to spend my time. Then again, I never planned to spend my time in the 18th century, either. I still had no idea where I was going to be with _her_ here. I had to chance asking Erik again, though I was loathe to do it. When I found both my courage to ask him and him, he was busy preparing, running back and forth, checking and re-checking, arranging and re-arranging things. Definately nervous.

"Erik...?"

"You will be staying at a hotel," he said gruffly, not stopping what he was doing. "I can't afford to have you here. Not with Christine coming. She will be needing her room...You will be there two weeks. We'll see what happens from there. You will be within walking distance of the opera house, and you will check in with me once a day on a regular basis. Six o'clock each night will do fine. Do NOT miss a meeting, or there will be consequences. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," I nodded.

"Good. You will wait for me on the lake front from the Rue Scribe entrance. We will be leaving that way just before six tonight to get you to the hotel. What you do with your time other than that is your own business...."

I grinned. "Understood. And thank you, Erik."

He merely glanced at me and continued working. I went back to my/Christine's room to pack up my stuff and get the room in impeccible order for Christine--even if I didn't like her. It would help Erik out at least.

The whole of the day was spent cleaning. When supper rolled around just before six, I ate quickly so we could get going. Honestly, I don't think I even tasted the food I ate. Erik rowed me across the lake afterwards. He was determined to escort me to my hotel so he'd know I had gotten there. Inwardly, I was estatic. I had no idea where I was going, or even what Paris was like. I had never been outside of his lair, and kind of preferred it that way, I guess. I really didn't want to leave Erik. Once outside, he firmly pulled his fedora over his face--and mask. He carried my bag--which he had gotten me--out to the awaiting carriage. The driver put the bag on top of the carriage as Erik helped me in. The drive didn't take all that long, and when the carriage stopped, I didn't want to get out.

"I take it back," I said quietly, just glancing out the window. "I'd rather stay locked in the library."

Erik stared at me incredulously. "What--?"

"I....don't want to be by myself..."

"With all the time you spent locked in your room, _now_ you don't want to be by yourself?"

"It's different knowing that someone is on the other side of the door or wall."

Erik laughed. "There is always someone on the other side of the wall here in Paris!"

I gave him an unamused glare. "Please don't do that. I receive mental images quite well, and that one was particularly vivid." I rubbed my forehead. "The walls are paper thin in my college dorm, and you can here _everything _that happens on the other side." I sent him a mental picture, and he shuddered. "See?"

He glared back. "That was uncalled for."

"You started it." I shifted a bit in my seat, then asked quietly. "Can we go back now? Please?"

"No." He said it so decidedly that I really should have quit arguing. I shifted back further into my seat. "Come, you need to get out and go in so I can return to the Opera."

"But..." My voice dropped to a fearful whisper. "I don't want to..."

"What could possibly--"

"People. Unfamilar surroundings... Being alone in them."

Erik sighed. I knew he'd understand. He kind of has the same problem--though for different reasons. He got out of the carriage and offered me his hand. "Come. You can't go back tonight."

I nodded, understanding completely, and gave him a weak smile as I took his hand and got out. The driver had set my bag on the ground by the carriage. However, with a curt, "You'll be fine," Erik was back in the carriage and driving back to the opera house. If it hadn't have been the 1800s, I would have cussed him out for leaving me like that--and I almost did anyways. But I just glared after him, sighed, and checked myself into the hotel. Erik had already had everything set up for me. The hotel was nice enough, though nothing like they are nowadays--much better service back then. I ended up locking myself in my room--again. Not like I had anything else to do or anywhere to go. And I still had no idea how Erik's night was really going to turn out. Erik was never going to tell me, Christine's version is confused at best, and I wasn't going to be able to witness it firsthand. I sighed. Was I ever going to be able to see any of the things as they happened? Erik seemed determined to make sure I didn't.

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**Shame-ed Begging:** Okay, so I know it's been a while, but, well, I've been doing a lot of paperwork and cleaning lately, and I didn't really feel like looking at more paper... But I'm better now! So here's the chappie--reviews for me?


	19. Chapter 19

I tried to relax in my room. It's not like I was going anywhere. To help pass the time, I tried to remember what all had happened in preparation for this night.

I had seen Erik all this morning making last-minute preparations. So he must have delivered his note to the managers late last night, after everyone had gone. I remember seeing it in passing soon after he wrote it.

_My Dear Managers:_

_So it is to be war between us?_

_If you still care for peace, here is my ultimatum. It consists of the four following conditions:_

_1. You must give me back my private box; and I wish it to be at my free disposal from henceforward._

_2. The part of Margarita shall be sung this evening by Christine Daae. Nevermind about Carlotta; she will be ill;_

_3. I absolutely insist upon the good and loyal services of Mme. Giry, my box-keeper, whom you will reinstate in her functions forthwith._

_4. Let me know by a letter handed to Mme. Giry, who will see that it reaches me, that you accept, as your predecessors did, the conditions in my memorandum-book relating to my monthly allowance. I will inform you later how you are to pay it to me._

_If you refuse, you will give _Faust _to-night in a house with a curse upon it._

_Take my advance and be warned in time._

_O.G._

Of course, this wouldn't have sat well with the managers. They would have been furious to find such a note this morning when they arrived. The gall of the man! -- or...ghost... I laughed. then, just after they read the note, the groomsman would have arrived to inform them that Cesar was stolen and he wanted the whole stable sacked. I laughed harder remembering that the groomsman had to explain to the managers that they had a stable, six stable hands, and twelve--no, eleven--horses. You'd think they'd know they had a stable when they bought the place! Erik must have taken Cesar last night after dropping off the note. That's the only time he could have done it, and the groomsman saw "a black shadow riding a white horse." Where Erik is keeping the horse I have no idea. However, I do know that the suggestion that the ghost stole the horse got the groomsman sacked as well.

Mme. Giry would not only _not_ have her job back, but have been literally kicked out of the managers' office by Firmin. Erik would certainly not like that.

And lastly, by now, Carlotta would have received two notes from Erik encouraging her to stay home sick, lest a fate worse than death should befall her. She, of course, would have blamed this whole plot against her on Christine and her admirers. Carlotta would be her usual pompous self and sing tonight.

I already resigned myself to more or less being stuck in my hotel room. Where was I going to go? I had no money, and I'd probably get lost a block away from the hotel. Hell, the first time I was in Asheville, NC, I had directions written down so I could find where I was going and I _still_ got lost. Imagine me here. Not pretty. Having nothing better to do, I started to unpack for my two-week stay. About half-way down, I discovered a ticket to that night's performance of _Faust_. And not just any ticket, but a _box seat_. Erik had even included fare for the carriage ride both ways. He really had thought of everything this time. I smiled. I'm not sure how, but he had gotten me a box seat for the performance. It was probably to make sure I stayed out of the way of the falling chandelier--if it was really was coming down tonight.

Realizing how late it was though, I quickly put the rest of my things away before getting ready. The Opera! I had never been to an opera before, so I just put on my best dress, braided my hair at the top of my head, and put the rest in a bun, leaving just enough hair loose to hide my bruised cheek. I had no idea what I was really doing, going to an opera, and I was really nervous. Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't going to make a fool of myself. Once downstairs, I had another surprise in store. Erik had sent the carriage back for me. And here I had been making assumptions about him while he had been making plans!

I carefully memorized the way to the opera house so I could retrace the way and walk there tomorrow night. Erik wouldn't like it if I had a carriage drive me each night. I took a deep breath before I got out of the carriage and before I went inside. There were a lot of people there. A lot. I hate, _hate_ being in the middle of crowds. There were just so many people--and these looked like the ones I'd classify as snobs. Okay, maybe not snobs. Maybe...normal. See, there's normal, and then there are me and my friends. And I was in a big crowd of normal. I kind of skirted around as many people as I could and asked about my seat, skirting around as I tried avoiding having to talk to anyone and making myself look like an idiot. Ask me about dragons or elves, or anything like that and you'll get a good conversation. Ask me about just about anything else--especially here in 19th century Paris--and you'll be lucky to get a two syllable answer. Relieved does not even begin to describe how I felt when I reached my box and sat down.

The opera began soon afterwards. The first Act went smoothly, despite the incredibly tense air that permeated the full house. Carlotta--well, Carlotta wasn't horrible, but she wasn't really Margarita. She was more or less blah. The lines that should have had feeling didn't have any. Her singing was pretty good, too, but again, blah. I could've sung with more feeling, but probably not as on-key as often as she was--and definitely not as high. ...I'm sorry, I'm getting ahead again. Carlotta didn't sing in the first Act; however, that was my impression of her entire performance that night--blah. I glanced at Box Five every now and again, despite the good acting on-stage. I was one of the few people who knew where the real action was going to take place tonight--even if most of the crowd was prepared for what Christine's admirers were going to supposedly do. About half -way through the Act, I saw the managers lean together, whispering cheerfully. At the end of Act One, they chatted cheerfully, one of them pointing out a fat, vulgar looking woman dressed in black and sitting directly in the center of the auditorium. I assumed that that was Madame Giry's replacement, the one manager's concierge. Silly woman. Sitting directly under the chandelier....

At the start of the second Act, a man entered Box Five, whispered something hurriedly to them, but was dismissed. The managers whispered again and glanced at the box on the Grand Tier. I did too, noting that it contained only two men, one of whom looked ghastly ill. It was the Comte and Viscomte de Chagney. Christine's appearance in this Act made no particular splash in the audience, but after Carlotta's two blah lines, over half the audience erupted in applause. I rolled my eyes. Damn admirers...what idiots they all were... After that, nothing at all interesting interrupted the rest of the Act.

Some people rushed out between Acts, and the managers left the box and returned, finding what looked like a small box of candy on the ledge of the Box, but I can't be certain. I only looked away for a second or two, but that's all Erik needed to place the box and leave again. When they left again to ask about the box of candy, I watched carefully. Sure enough, Erik slipped out of the pillar in his Box, almost invisible from where I was, and left an opera glass next to the candy, then disappeared again. When the managers returned, they looked at the glass, looked at each other, and sat back down solemnly.

In the third Act, Christine sang her first two lines, looked up, and from that point on, her voice faltered, unsure of itself. I looked, too, and saw only the Viscomte and his elder brother. Raoul was crying, I could tell even from where I was sitting, and his brother was chewing his mustache--well, either that or a piece of gum.... Carlotta was greeted with thunderous un-earned applause whenever she sang. She soon lost herself in her singing, and not even a hint of Margarita was left in her performance. Finally, Faust knelt on one knee, singing his part, and Carlotta returned her part:

_"Oh, how strange! Like a spell does the evening bind me! And a deep languid charm I feel without alarm with its melody enwind me and all my heart subdue-CO-ACK!"_

Everyone in the house was very confused and concerned. Well....everyone but me. I burst out laughing. I couldn't help it! It was just perfect! I got a lot of stares from those below me, but I ignored them. Not like I could have stopped myself anyway. Carlotta was speechless for a moment or two, then tried again. "CO-ACK!" My laughter started anew. The house, however, was filled with audible horror for Carlotta's fate. Richard called for her to go on, but instead, she started the line over. _"I feel without alarm....I feel without alarm...I feel without alarm-CO-ACK! With its melody enwind me-CO-ACK! And all my heart sub-CO-ACK!"_

The house was in an uproar, and I was practically rolling on the floor with laughter. Carlotta the toad! Carlotta the toad!!! Then I heard a terrible sound. The sound of chains grinding together. I looked up and saw the chandelier moving. I wanted to scream with the rest of the people. Instead, I froze, staring at it as it crashed. It is one thing to see it crash on TV. It is another thing completely to feel like you could touch it as it fell if you only stood up. The crowds rushed for the doors while I sat still in my seat. I followed its progress with my eyes and watched it land directly on the fat, ugly lady's head. I was stunned. Like I said, it is one thing to read about it or watch it on TV, and another completely to watch it happen in front of you.

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**Shame-ed Begging: **We have finally reached the point in the story where the narrator gets to see something firsthand! And what a thing to actually witness on her first night on the town...Thoughts?


	20. Chapter 20

I was in shock as I left the Opera House. Nothing can ever prepare you for watching something like that. Such was the shock that I didn't even remember the carriage that was waiting. I walked. My head was down, and the scene kept playing over and over in my head. Kind of cliché, I know, but that is honestly what happened. I'm not sure how far I walked before I realized where I was. Actually, where I wasn't. I looked up, looked around at the various houses around me, and went, "Aw, shit." You guessed it. I had managed to get myself lost. I didn't even know if I had turned any corners or just walked straight from the Opera House. I turned around, my eyes searching for the very prominent Opera House towering above the houses. It is extremely hard to miss at any point during the year. However, by now the damn darkness was deep enough that I couldn't see shit. I turned, and I turned again, and I turned again. There was no Opera House towering above the roofs. Only darkness. And by now, I had even forgotten which way I had come from—not that I had been paying that close of attention to begin with. Angry and frustrated with myself, I kicked at nothing on the ground, punched the air, and screamed all of the curse and swear words I could think of.

Feeling slightly better, but still in desperate need of pummeling something, I bit my lip and picked a direction to walk. Hell, it couldn't get me any more lost than I already was. I found that I kept glancing at the houses. None of them looked familiar in the least. I started grumbling to myself—first swear words, then incomplete thoughts over how stupid I was, and finally just incoherent syllables. Just for the sake of grumbling.

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle, but are you all right?" The man's thick Iranian accent startled me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

_God, I really need to start paying more attention…_ "Yes," I told the man with ebony skin and jade eyes. His dress clothes seemed a bit odd paired with his—what's it called…that cylindrical red cap with a tassel on top…astrakhan cap. That was it. (Oh, and I thank the reader who is currently reading over my shoulder like I've told him many times not to do. Without his input, I would probably still be stewing over what that hat was called—like I have been for the past half an hour. Now kindly STOP READING OVER MY SHOULDER!) The man looked maybe sixty-ish, but it's hard to tell in the dark. "I'm fine…Well, apart from being…a bit…lost…"

"Lost? Where are you trying to get to?"

Should I tell him? Every part of how I was raised said no, don't tell him where you're staying. And yet, from every thing I had read, my brain told me that this was the Persian, and the Persian never meant any harm. In fact, he only ever tried to help. He could definitely tell me—or even show me—how to get back to my hotel.

"The um…Hotel Costes… I think…"

"You think?"

I bit my lip and readjusted the hair covering my bruised cheek. "I only just got here…and I wasn't…exactly…paying attention…"

He smiled kindly. The first real smile I'd seen in a long while. "Come, then. I will take you there. It is not far, Mademoiselle."

I nodded nervously, walking beside him. "Thank you. I really hate new cities."

"May I ask why you are in Paris?"

"…Visiting a friend…" I answered with a sideways glance.

"As you wish," he said with an understanding nod. "Where are you from?"

"…America."

"You speak French very well, Mademoiselle."

"Scared the—" I glanced at him. "Thank you. You do as well. You're from Persia, are you not?"

"Yes. I am known as the Persian in these parts." I nodded. "…May I ask your name?"

"You may ask."

"…And?"

"I think you're prying. I don't wish to say."

"Very well, Mademoiselle," he conceded, trying to hide a sigh.

The rest of the walk was quiet. A bit awkward, but I didn't want to volunteer any information for him. I was trying to avoid the Persian. After all, he was the one who would talk to Gaston Leroux about what had happened. Since I had accidentally met him, I wanted to only be the American girl who had gotten herself lost in Paris. Nothing note-worthy.

"Thank you," I said with a smile and a small nod once my hotel was in clear view. "I can find my way from here. Next time, I'll be sure to have someone to walk with."

"You are quite welcome, my dear," he smiled back. "I hope you will have a good night."

"I will, thank you." I tried not to hurry back to the hotel, but it's hard when you really want to get away from someone—though not for the reason I'm sure he thought I did.

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**Shame-ed Begging: **I know I haven't posted in a long time. Writer's block, getting ready for school, all that jazz. But I'm back to writing now, so I should be posting more frequently. So, really, what do you guys think of this chapter? Now that the narrator has met the Persian, we should be seeing more of him, too.


	21. Chapter 21

The next day, I spent most of my time writing. Okay, most of it was my brain working faster than my hand was, so I didn't get as much writing done as you would think. By six, I was honestly tired of staring at things in my room. Good thing it was time to see Erik, huh? I had a much easier time finding the Opera House this time around. Paying attention helps. It really does. I went through the Rue Scribe entrance and back-tracked the way Erik had led me out. When I reached the lake, I heard the boat out on it. At first, I thought it was Erik, but the figure was going the opposite direction—away from the shoreline—and it was much too heavy-set for Erik. Then the music started up. It was a breathy, airy music. A whisper that came from the waters itself. It was beautiful—beyond words. It was so soft and inviting, I wanted to just walk into the water and find the source. The man in the boat must have been thinking the same thing. He leaned over the edge of the boat, almost to the point of tipping the boat over.

Suddenly, something shot from the smooth, glassy surface of the lake and pulled the man into the water. Just before he hit the water, though, the man let out a cry—something I couldn't understand, but obviously meant something to the figure. They swam to the shore—much like I'm sure it looked like when Erik dragged me out of the water when I first dropped in. I took a seat on one of the rocks as they swam, out of the way. Erik unceremoniously dropped the man—the Persian—on the bank and stood dripping over him.

"How imprudent you are!" Erik hissed at him. "Why try to enter my house? I never invited you! I don't want you there, nor anybody! Did you save my life only to make it unbearable for me? However great the service you rendered him, Erik may end by forgetting it; and you know that nothing can restrain Erik, not even Erik himself."

"Yes, Erik, I know. But, how were you able to sing under the water?"

That was Erik singing? I had never heard him sing before. He had never sung while I was in the house, only played his organ. He was amazing…

Erik laughed and showed the Persian a long reed, acting like a child who was showing off a new toy and talent. "It's the silliest trick you ever saw, but it's very useful for breathing and singing in the water. I learned it from the Tonkin pirates, who are able to remain hidden for hours in the beds of the rivers."

"It's a trick that nearly killed me!" the Persian said severely. "And it may have been fatal to others! You know what you promised me, Erik? No more murders!"

"Have I really committed murders?" he asked, very amiable.

"Wretched man! Have you forgotten the rosy hours of Mazenderan?"

"Yes," Erik said sadly. "I prefer to forget them. I used to make the little sultana laugh, though!"

"All that belongs to the past! But there is the present…and you are responsible to me for the present, because, if I had wished, there would have been none at all for you. Remember that, Erik: I saved your life!" He paused for a second. "Erik, Erik, swear that…"

"What?" he retorted. "You know I never keep my oaths. Oaths are made to catch gulls with."

"Tell me…you can tell me, at any rate…"

"Well?"

I was getting a bit impatient myself. Just get to the point!

"Well, the chandelier…the chandelier, Erik?..."

"What about the chandelier?"

"You know what I mean."

"Oh," he snickered, "I don't mind telling you about the chandelier!..._It wasn't I!_...The chandelier was very old and worn."

He laughed again and jumped into the boat. His laugh, though, was terrifying. Worse than your brother could ever have done. It made my skin crawl.

"Very old and worn, my dear daroga! Very old and worn, the chandelier!...It fell of itself!...It came down with a smash!...And now, daroga, take my advice and go and dry yourself, or you'll catch a cold in the head!...And never get into my boat again…And, whatever you do, don't try to enter my house: I'm not always there…daroga! And I should be sorry to have to dedicate my Requiem Mass to you!" Still chuckling, Erik pushed himself off and disappeared into the dark lake.

The Persian sighed and shook himself off slightly, then turned to go. Unfortunately, he saw me.

"You? What—how did you get down here?!"

I shrugged, looking out over the dark lake. "I walked." _Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer._

He growled lowly, switching back into 'chief-of-police-mode.' "_What_ are you doing down here?"

"Watching the lake. Obviously."

His eyes narrowed. "How long have you been sitting there? And how do you know of this lake?"

"I fell in when I first arrived, and not long enough to make my butt cold yet from sitting on a cold rock." I have a feeling I was aggravating him.

"Do you know of the man I was speaking with?"

"Yep."

"And?" I could feel his glare.

"And what? I neither need nor have any desire to tell you anything else. Except for this." I turned and stared at him stonily. "Get off his back. You saved his life once, he saved your life tonight. By all measurements, you two are even. By all rights, if you want him to spare your life again, you should save his life again. And stay out of his business. You're nothing but a bother, really. You poke your nose where it doesn't belong, then wonder why Erik almost kills you. _Leave him be._ Find something else to occupy your time." I stopped and rubbed my forehead, muttering to myself. "Oh, god, I'm ranting again…I always start ranting. Why can't I just keep my big mouth shut..?"

The Persian stared for a moment, processing that. "Did you get all that from my one conversation with him?"

"Maybe. Damn, Jess, way to go. Open your big mouth. At least he already knows what you're talking about…"

"…Do you always talk to yourself, Mademoiselle?"

I glanced over at him. "Only when I think out loud. It gets hard to hold conversations with the people in my head if I talk out loud and they just talk in my head."

He raised an eyebrow, concerned. "…Are you sure you're quite all right?"

"Of course," I smiled. "I'm a writer. I'm allowed to hold conversations with my characters inside my head. How else am I supposed to know their stories or how they'd react to any given situation?"

The Persian sighed and turned to go. I dipped my head, laughing, and my hair fell in my face. I brushed my hair back without even thinking about it. The Persian froze.

"Great Allah," he swore. I jumped a little and stared at him, confused for a moment. "My dear--your face--What--?"

"It's no big deal," I interrupted.

"No big deal?!"

"It doesn't even hurt anymore. Look." I poked at the bruise. "Besides, I only got it by sleeping on my hand all night."

"That's impossible," he replied, indignant. "Not only do bruises _not_ form by sleeping on something like your hand, but that mark is _much_ bigger than your hand!"

"Fine," I admitted with a sigh. "I'll tell you what happened, but this is top-secret information, got it?"

"Of course," he said, confused over what could be so secretive about a bruise. I glanced across the lake and towards the entrance.

"I've figured out how to animate furniture. It's great. They can move and think for themselves. Unfortunately, I think they also hold grudges. I animated a table that I spilt boiling water on last week, and as soon as it saw me, it reached up and smacked me in the face!" I demonstrated with a quick jerk of my hand.

I must say, I am proud of myself. I kept a straight face for a whole fifteen seconds. While looking at him. It was great. The Persian was completely dumbstruck. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then just looked at me in confusion. I burst out laughing. I'm willing to bet he's one of those people who will look up if you tell him that 'gullible' is written on the ceiling. (Note to self: must try that.) I practically collapsed off my rock, laughing.

"Mademoiselle, I don't see what is so funny," the Persian sputtered, a bit annoyed.

"You're right. You're right," I breathed. "That was in bad taste. I'm sorry." I took a few deep, calming breaths, got my composure back, and looked back at the Persian. And cracked up again.

I couldn't help it! He still had on that same look. I'm sorry I can't include a picture with this manuscript. I didn't have a camera, and you know I can't draw worth crap. Especially faces. Well, anyway, this time I really did fall off my rock. I couldn't breathe, and I couldn't stop. The Persian huffed and walked away. I managed to calm down, got up, and started out myself giggling softly. "Oh…" I sighed and started humming as I went back to my hotel.

"_I can't stand to fly. I'm not that naive. __I'm just out to find the better part of me. I'm more than a bird...I'm more than a plane, more than some pretty face beside a train. It's not easy to be me. Wish that I could cry, fall upon my knees, find a way to lie about a home I'll never see. It may sound absurd...but don't be naïve--even heroes have the right to bleed. I may be disturbed...but wont you concede even heroes have the right to dream. It's not easy to be me. Up, up and away...away from me. It's all right...you can all sleep sound tonight. I'm not crazy...or anything..._

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**Shame-ed begging: **Hey! New chapter! I wonder if the Persian has put anything together yet...hmmm....reviews?


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **_All right, since it's been so long since I last posted my disclaimer, I'd like to mention one more time that a lot of things in this story appear that I don't own. Songs, hints from or mentions of other books, Leroux reporting in his book exactly as things happen in some parts of mine that I'm translating from this manuscript....You get the idea._

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I did a lot of writing over the next two weeks. Erik was too preoccupied with Christine to pay much attention to me. He merely acknowledged my presence each evening. I made it a habit to walk about the city every day—one, for exercise, and another to not get lost again. Time always seems to go slower as you look ahead, but looking back, those two weeks went awfully fast, and it wasn't long until the masked ball was only a day or two away. And from what I glimpsed in the papers, Carlotta had fallen mysteriously ill, and Christine had disappeared. But all of us who are in on the joke already know where Christine is. _Faust_ was played without both of the divas. Oh, and I feel bound to tell you that Mme. Giry was quickly re-instated soon after the chandelier accident.

I want to say, oh, day twelve of the kidnapping, I happened to see Raoul, while I was out walking, coming out of the Opera House. I had been kind of expecting him—and had recognized him as being the one who had looked ill in his Box at the opera nearly two weeks ago. I followed him as he hurried down the street. He must have been like me—no matter how that thought kind of disgusts me—I meant, really, that you feel like you're going faster, for some reason, if you run—even if it really is faster to go by carriage. I know I was being nosey, but, well, I was bored, and it's very bad for me to be bored. He rang the bell at a little house in the Rue Notre-Dame-des-Victores, and a maid answered. I walked a bit further slowly, then stopped and pretended to wait for someone.

"Please," he asked the maid, "may I please speak with Madame Valerius?"

"I'm sorry, monsieur," she replied, "but Madame is ill in bed and is not receiving visitors."

"Take my card, please."

The maid took it and hurried off. In a few moments, she was back and ushered Raoul inside. I quickly slipped around the house, trying not to make any noise that would draw attention. It had to have been close to five minutes before he got to talk to her, and then I could finally find the right window to eavesdrop by. Yeah, this is what I do when I'm bored and the opportunity arises. Usually, though, all I get to do is plot, so don't worry.

"Monsieur de Chagney!" an elderly woman's voice called gaily. "Ah, it's heaven that sends you here!...We can talk of _her_."

"Madame…where is Christine?"

"She is with her good genius!" she replied enthusiastically.

"What good genius?!"

"Why, the Angel of Music!"

I nearly gagged. Such enthusiasm and trust in Erik. In Christine. I so wanted to choke her and tell her what I really thought of her precious Christine…

In hushed tones, the woman added, "You must not tell anyone!"

"You can rely on me," Raoul said almost gloomily.

"I know! I know I can!" She laughed happily. "But why don't you come near me, as you used to do when you were a little boy? Give me your hands, as when you brought me the story of little Lotte, which Daddy Daae had told you. I am very fond of you, Monsieur Raoul, you know. And so is Christine too!"

Fine! Then Raoul take Christine! It would save me the trouble of killing her! No—must…not…kill…Christine…

"She is fond of me!" he sighed. What makes you think that Christine is fond of me, madame?"

"She used to speak of you every day."

"Really?...And what did she tell you?"

"She told me that you had made her a proposal!" She began laughing.

Really? When had he done that?

"What's this?" she asked suddenly. "Where are you going?...Sit down again at once, will you?...Do you think I will let you go like that?...If you are angry with me for laughing, I beg your pardon…After all, what has happened isn't your fault…Didn't you know?...Did you think Christine was free?"

"Is Christine engaged to be married?" Raoul asked, almost choking on his words.

"Why no! Why no!...You know as well as I do that Christine couldn't marry, even if she wanted to!"

"But I don't know anything about it!...And why can't Christine marry?"

"Because of the Angel of Music, of course!"

"I don't follow…"

"Yes! He forbids her to!"

"He forbids her!...The Angel of Music forbids her to marry!"

Well, that should have been a humungo red flag, right there.

"Oh, he forbids her…without forbidding her. It's like this: he tells her that, if she got married, she would never hear him again. That's all!...And that he would go away forever!...So, you understand, she can't let the Angel of Music go. It's quite natural."

Of course he would leave. That would mean that there was no way he could woo her, if she got married.

"Yes, yes," he said dejectedly. "It's quite natural…"

"Besides, I thought Christine had told you all that, when she met you at Perros, where she went with her good genius."

"Oh, she went to Perros with her good genius, did she?"

"That is to say, he arranged to meet her down there, in Perros churchyard, at Daae's grave. He promised to play her _The Resurrection of Lazarus_ on her father's violin!"

Haughtily, Raoul demanded, "Madame, you will have the goodness to tell me where that genius lives."

"In Heaven!"

I gave a small snort, then bit my lips trying to keep quiet.

All was silent for a few moments as Raoul think to understand. Suddenly, he asked, "Is Christine still a good girl?"

Good in what sense? Oh, right, the non-slutty kind…

"I swear it, as I hope to be saved!" she exclaimed, incensed. "And if you doubt it, sir, I don't know what you are here for!"

How long has she known this 'genius'?!"

"About three months…Yes, it's quite three months since he began to give her lessons."

Really? Was that all? Hm, I thought it was longer…

"The genius gives her lessons!" he said in exasperation. "And where, pray?"

"Now that she has gone away with him, I can't say; but, up to a fortnight ago, it was in Christine's dressing room. It would be impossible in this little flat. The whole house would hear them. Whereas, at the Opera, at eight o'clock in the morning, there is no one about, do you see?"

"Yes, I see! I see!" he cried. And I could hear the door to the room slam.

Raoul left the Valerius residence in a hurry, and I, in need of being sneaky and being on the other side of the house, quickly lost sight of him on the street. I returned to my hotel until just before six, when I was to meet Erik. I asked him how things were going with Christine and if he needed me for anything. Erik, however, assured me that everything was going well.

"In fact, I have been taking Christine out in carriage rides in the Bois. She has been enjoying them immensely. We are going out again tonight."

I sighed. "Erik, please be careful. If someone were to see you with the _kidnapped diva_…"

"There is no need for alarm," he said almost cheerfully. "That is why we are riding at night."

"Of course," I said with a small smile. That was the happiest I had ever seen him. Somehow, he was happy despite Christine's actions—or feelings—and I really didn't want to destroy that. "Is there anything else? I don't want to be the one keeping you from your appointment."

"No, nothing else. And you're right. I must be going. Christine is waiting for me." And Erik happily got back into his boat and rowed away.

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**Shame-ed begging:** All right! Moving right along now. Our narrator is only two days or so from the masked ball. Red Death will definately be there. But will the narrator? And what happened to the Persain? Did he take her advice? Oh, so many questions to ask! We'll all just have to wait and see. --Oh, and I'm excited. It seems that Erik included something embarrassing about the narrator at the end of the manuscript. :) I found a note that he wrote at the bottom of the manuscript along with a few extra pages of writing. BUT! I'm not going to post any of it until after the story's done. :) TEE-HEE!


	23. Chapter 23

Late at night has always been the best time to go for a walk, I think. Especially when you're worried about someone and can't sleep. All right. It really wasn't that late, but it seemed much later than eight o'clock, being in December and all. I wandered around for a long time. I'm not sure how long. Ten minutes can feel like hours when you're bored, and I didn't have a watch or clock. A few blocks after I decided it was time to head back to the hotel, I saw Raoul standing in the shadows, stomping his feet in the cold. It wasn't that cold, really. -40, now that's cold.

I was a ways away, and on the opposite side of the street as he, when he started. A carriage moving at a walking pace had turned onto our street. Raoul moved slightly out of his shadow, raptly watching the carriage. Then the moon came out from behind a cloud.

"Christine!"

His mouth had betrayed him. As if waiting for that cue, the carriage suddenly took off at a gallop down the street. And before he could utter his second "Christine!" as he ran after it, the carriage was nothing but a black spot against the white backdrop of snow. Raoul slowed to a walk, then stopped, staring at the ground. He had gotten no reply, and I had tried to warn Erik that they would be recognized… Raoul slowly shuffled off and around a corner, where his carriage was waiting to drive him off. A high-speed carriage chase. Now that would have been interesting to watch.

Walking back, I ended up passing the Opera House. On the pavement of the Place de l'Opera, I heard the crunch and crackle of paper underfoot. Stopping and stepping back, I discovered a muddy letter that had either fallen out of a lady's pocket or thrown from a carriage window. I say a lady's pocket because the handwriting was delicate enough to be decidedly feminine. The letter was quite muddy—probably from quite a few people walking on it—like I did. But I at least stopped to look at it. This close to the Opera House, written by a woman, and addressed to Raoul de Chagney without a stamp on it, I could only guess it was from Christine. I sighed, the pressure of decision-making fighting in me. I could just drop the letter and let someone else find it—maybe weeks or months later, after the snow melts and ruins the paper. That would give Erik more time with Christine, and Raoul would pine away in his manor. Or I could make this letter just disappear—with the same results. Maybe burn it as soon as it dried out. Or I could actually give this to Raoul—deliver it to his manor. This would actually advance the story like it's supposed to go. Damn. I hate timelines and paradoxes… I sighed, and, tired though I was, walked all the way to the de Chagney manor, delivered the letter, and hurried out of there before I ended up stabbing someone—like Raoul, if I saw him—out of tired frustration at paradoxes. I really needed some sleep.

I slept until the afternoon sun was hitting my bed. It was definitely an interesting dream I was having, too. One with Erik. One that –cough, cough—will not be repeated in any company. Whatsoever. It was one of those strange dreams. Extremely real—making you feel like it really is happening at the time. Of course it wasn't. Not even close. What really woke me up was opening my eyes to see what was happening in my dream better. Little did I know that I was _actually_ opening my eyes. I hate it when that happens. That evening, when I went to go see Erik, I was a bit nervous. That whole dream thing was a little too real for me, and, well, made me quite ashamed of my subconscious.

I was a little late getting there, I guess. Erik was already waiting for me—quite impatiently. I guess I was walking a bit slower than I thought I was…. Anyway, I didn't have to stay long. Erik had only one thing to say before he got in his boat and left again.

"Next time, just tell me that Christine would be recognized when I take her out."

And then he was gone. I walked out, and part way down the street, I chanced to glance back in time to see the Persian slip into the entrance. Damn, he had just missed Erik, too. Lucky him. Wonder if he's willing to stay until Erik gets tired of him hanging around…?

* * *

**Shame-ed begging: **Okay, long time, no chapter, and this one is kind of short, but the next one will be longer again! As soon as I find time in between homework stuffs...--sweatdrop-- So...reviews? Please? The button with the green letters...it is pretty...press da button...


	24. Chapter 24

The next day, when I went to see Erik, I found myself singing Bob Carlisle as I made my way down to the lake.

__

"Down a cold and darkened hallway  
A doctor stood alone,  
With a young and frightened father  
Who knew something was wrong  
He said, "Son this isn't easy  
But we really need to talk."  
So he put his arm around him  
And they began to walk.

He said, "Your wife is finally sleeping  
She just needs to be alone right now.…."

The Persian was still there, waiting on the shore. I kinda didn't want him to hear me sing, but, well, I kinda did. I sat on my rock again, ignoring him the best I could, but I could feel his eyes on me.

"…_And your baby, well she's healthy,  
But there's something you should know.  
Son, she's slightly less than perfect,  
And there's nothing we could do.  
So before you go to see her,  
I thought I'd talk to you."_

I could definitely feel his eyes now. Tension, heavy tension.

"_As the young man held the warm,  
And sleeping bundle to his chest,  
He saw the imperfections,  
And although he tried his best,  
He couldn't stop the tears from falling,  
As he held his little girl.  
And in a low and trembling voice,  
He gently said these words;_

_"You're beautiful in every way, so beautiful.  
How I've waited for this day.  
If the world was offered to me,  
I just couldn't make the trade.  
Cause you're beautiful"_

_You'd be amazed at how some things matter,  
And some things don't,  
When you're seen through,  
The eyes_ ….of love."

I sighed, letting the last few notes float in the air. "Not enough people think like that, though."

"….I know they don't," the Persian finally said. "Why are you really here?"

"Why are you?"

He gave a sort of chuckle. "A fair enough question."

"Only I don't really care. I'm here because I am. Because I'm not dead yet. And I might as well be here as anywhere else."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because humans make life kind of pointless. I live for my stories.—

"_There's another world inside of me  
That you may never see  
There're secrets in this life  
That I can't hide  
Somewhere in this darkness  
There's a light that I can't find  
Maybe it's too far away...  
Or maybe I'm just blind...  
Or maybe I'm just blind..._

_So hold me when I'm here  
Right me when I'm wrong  
Hold me when I'm scared  
And love me when I'm gone__  
Everything I am  
And everything in me  
Wants to be the one  
You wanted me to be  
I'll never let you down  
Even if I could  
I'd give up everything  
If only for your good  
So hold me when I'm here  
Right me when I'm wrong  
You can hold me when I'm scared  
You won't always be there  
So love me when I'm gone  
Love me when I'm gone..._

_When your execution X-Ray  
Cannot see under my skin  
I won't tell you a damn thing  
That I could not tell my friends  
Roaming through this darkness  
I'm alive but I'm alone  
Part of me is fighting this  
But part of me is gone_

_So hold me when I'm here  
Right me when I'm wrong  
Hold me when I'm scared  
And __love__ me when I'm gone  
Everything I am  
And everything in me  
Wants to be the one  
You wanted me to be  
I'll never let you down  
Even if I could  
I'd give up everything  
If only for your good  
So hold me when I'm here  
Right me when I'm wrong  
You can hold me when I'm scared  
You won't always be there  
So love me when I'm gone  
Love me when I'm gone..."_

I cut off when I heard the slight splashing of Erik crossing the lake.

When he landed, he jumped out and walked up to the Persian. "You have been here for twenty-four hours," Erik said, surprisingly calm, "and you're annoying me. I tell you, all this will end very badly. And you will have brought it upon yourself; for I have been extraordinarily patient with you. You think you are following me, you great booby, where as it's I who am following you, and I know all that you know about me, here. I spared you yesterday, in _my Communists' road_; but I warn you, seriously, you don't seem able to take a hint!"

Erik had been getting angrier the longer he talked, and by now he was huffing and puffing, trying to think what to say next. He looked so comical, I had to bite down on my knuckles to keep from laughing. Finally he had it.

"Yes, you must learn, once and for all--once and for all, I say--to take a hint! I tell you that, with your recklessness--for you have already been twice arrested by the shade in the felt hat, who did not know what you were doing in the cellars and took you to the managers, who looked upon you as an eccentric Persian interested in stage mechanism and life behind the scenes: I know all about it, I was there, in the office; you know I am everywhere--well, I tell you that, with your recklessness, they will end by wondering what you are after here...and they will end by knowing that you are after Erik...and then they will be after Erik themselves and they will discover the house on the lake...If they do, it will be a bad lookout for you, old chap, a bad lookout!...I won't answer for anything."

Erik started huffing and puffing again. I hid my face in my other hand while I kept my knuckles in my mouth, trying desperately not to laugh.

"I won't answer for anything! ...If Erik's secrets cease to be Erik's secrets, _it will be a bad lookout for a goodly number of the human race!_ That's all I have to tell you, and unless you are a great booby, it ought to be enough for you...except that you don't know how to take a hint."

He sat down on the stern of his boat and started kicking his heels against the planks, waiting for the Persian's answer.

"It's not Erik that I'm after here!" he said, a bit exasperated.

"Who then?" Erik's eyes darted over to me for an instant. Had someone found out about me?

"You know as well as I do: it's Christine Daae."

Erik seemed to relax just a tad. He wouldn't be losing me. However, he stayed on the defensive. "I have every right to see her in my own house. I am loved for my own sake."

"That's not true." Well, it was partially true, actually. "You have carried her off and are keeping her locked up."

"Listen," Erik growled. "Will you promise never to meddle with my affairs again, if I prove to you that I am loved for my own sake?"

"Yes, I promise you." It came a little to quickly for my liking. The Persian sounded so certain it was impossible. But this was Erik they were talking about. My Erik. I wanted to hang on Erik and kiss him just to prove the Persian wrong.

"Well, then, it's quite simple....Christine Daae shall leave this as she pleases and come back again!...Yes, come back again, because she wishes...come back of herself, because she loves me for myself!..." He sounded quite pleased with himself.

"Oh, I doubt if she will come back!...But it is your duty to let her go."

"My duty, you great booby!...It is my wish...my wish to let her go; and she will come back again," if only because of fear, "...for she loves me!...All this will end in a marriage...a marriage at the Madeleine, you great booby! Do you believe me now? When I tell you that my nuptial mass is written...wait till you hear the _Kyrie_..." He beat time against the planks with his heels and sang: "_Kyrie!...Kyrie!...Kyrie eleison!_...Wait till you hear, wait till you hear that mass."

"Look here," the Persian said, a bit annoyed. "I shall believe you if I see Christine Daae' come out of the house on the lake and go back to it of her own accord."

"And you won't meddle any more in my affairs?"

"No."

"Very well, you shall see that to-night. Come to the masked ball. Christine and I will go have a look round. Then you can hide in the lumber-room and you shall see Christine, who will have gone to her dressing-room, delighted to come back by the Communists' road....And, now, be off, for I must go and do some shopping!"

Erik walked off, leaving the both of us behind. The Persian looked over at me, but I merely shrugged and left as well. With Erik gone, I had no reason to be here. He was, however, waiting for me just outside the entrance.

"You are such a ham!" I said, rolling my eyes.

Erik chuckled. "What makes you say that?"

"You were so playing it up for him."

"And you weren't? I heard you singing."

I blushed slightly and dropped my head as we walked. "…Sorry."

"You're not as bad as you make yourself out to be. A few lessons—"

"No." It was firm, with no room for argument. "No lessons. I don't listen to them, and I don't want them. Ever."

Erik shrugged. "Just a suggestion."

I shrugged, too, with a sigh. I wanted to ask him if he would buy me an outfit for the masked ball, but…I really didn't think he would. Why should he? It would only make me look like an idiot. Erik guided me down to a dress shop. It was probably for Christine. Of course. His precious Christine.

"I should probably let you do your shopping, then," I said with a small sigh.

"You're coming with me. How else will you be able to pick out your outfit for the Ball?"

* * *

**Shame-ed begging:** Hi, all! Long chapter, lots happening, almost time for the masked ball. On a side note, the dream has been posted in the 'mature' section of fanfiction. It's called "For Your Eyes Only." Enjoy!


	25. Chapter 25

I was absolutely ecstatic about going to the Masked Ball. The entire way there, I was playing with my costume. Erik had been a bit surprised by what I wanted to wear, but I just couldn't help it. It was sooooo pretty! Now picture this: a black dress with a full flowing skirt that brushes the floor, slightly poofed shoulders, bell sleeves split at the elbow on top of the arm, laced entirely through with silver threads, so it looks like spider webbing, a black stomacher with silver spider web threading and a silver front panel with black spider web threading, with a square neck-line ending two inches below the top of the cleavage, and the inside of the sleeves are pure silver. My slippers are pure black, and my gloves, also pure black, go up to the middle of my bicep, under my dress sleeves. I really wanted black feather wings to go with the outfit, but I didn't think we could find any, so I didn't mention them to Erik…. No hoop skirt under the dress or anything… Now, I can't believe I talked Erik in to it for me, but…well…Erik got me completely new jewelry, too!! Two new rings, one is a silver snake curled around my finger on my left hand—to replace the one I left in the 21st century—and the second is a silver spider with an onyx on its back on my right hand. Okay, okay, okay, that's not even the best part. I mean, it's really good, but it's not the best! First, though, the rest of my costume. I managed to talk him in to buying me black lipstick. I know, it's not easy to find, but he got it for me—and a bit of black make-up. And then there was the black mask that I very carefully put silver webbing on, and a few new things for me to put my hair up with. So, there's my costume. And it. is. GEORGEOUS!!! Sorry, sorry….got a little carried away…I do that sometimes… Anyway, Erik was surprised when I said this was the dressed I wanted. Really, it wasn't exactly, but I didn't think I could get black and purple, and this just fit so perfectly.

The best part of our shopping trip was what else I talked Erik into getting me. The entire way to the Ball, I couldn't stop playing with two things—my dress and my new toy. I couldn't help it! It was so shiny in the moonlight, and nice and sharp…When the carriage pulled to a stop, though, I slid my new dagger away and went inside the Opera House.

It was very loud inside, to say it mildly. In fact, that was a gross understatement. It was more like—insta-headache. I stayed there for hours, and the later it got, the more noise there was. By a quarter to midnight, my head was pounding, and I'm guessing quite a lot of booze got passed around by the way some people were hanging off of each other….I tried my best to avoid these people, lest I get an urge to stab them and sully my nice clean shiny dagger…Luckily, Raoul was pretty easy to spot. I just kept an eye on him. He was wearing this god-awful mask with his white suit, and I mean it was just _horrid_…a white mask covered in thick white lace, a white head wrap on his head…no one would even guess it was him, it was that horrid. It was one of those outfits that you could never loose—God, how you'd try if you have any choice, but you'd never lose them… Just before midnight, I followed him up the staircase to the crush-room. There seemed to be half the whole damn party in that little room. There was so much noise and so many people dancing in that room. He got caught up with the dancers, and as soon as he was free, they got me instead. With a hiss and a flash of my dagger, I got away sooner and made my way across the room. In the next, smaller room, the other half of the party had to have been. How many people showed up to this thing?! People were coming and going here, and it was nearly impossible to keep an eye on any one person. I ended up being glad I didn't have any wings on, they would have gotten ripped off in a hurry. My dress and feet got trampled on enough. The edges of my black dress ended up turning a light gray…There were so many people, though, that I nearly lost Raoul all together! He was almost out of the room with someone in a black suit before I spotted him again. I had to push my way through the crowd, going against the flow, and it took some time. I hoped he stayed in a straight line from that room…

Once more through the crushroom I followed them, but this time, most of the room seemed to be focused on one particular costume—though they gave him a wide berth. He seemed to just part the waves of people as he passed. So cool. I could immediately tell it was Erik. No one else could possibly have the notion of terror like he did, and he always did have a flair for the dramatic. I couldn't tell if he was wearing a mask or if that was his real face, but I imagine it was a mask that accentuated his face. He wore completely crimson. It was a suit, a little different than a red tux, but I'm afraid I can't describe it any better. Sorry, I wish I could. It was amazing. He also wore a cavalier's hat, with the one side of the brim swept up, and red, white, and black feathers in it. Hanging from his shoulders was an immense red velvet cloak, which trailed a good three feet on the floor behind him as he walked. I could hear everyone around him whispering, but it was still too noisy to hear distinctively.

And then someone decided to be suicidal. One guy tried to touch Erik. Everything went deathly silent, and I heard a collective gasp as Erik's bony hand shot out grasped the man's wrist. The man screamed and tried to jerk away, but Erik held on. When Erik finally let go, the man, dressed in a jester's costume, shot out of the crushroom like lightning, everyone around him laughing and jeering at him.

Erik turned towards the two dominos that were trying to sneak past him and out of the room as well, and Raoul, in the white domino, stopped for half a second like he was going to say something before the black domino pulled him out of the room in a hurry. Erik followed. It was then I could read what everyone else had been whispering about. In gold letters embroidered on the back of his cloak was "_Do not touch me! I am the Red Death who passes!_" I quickly followed Erik, who was even harder to lose in a crowd than Raoul, what with the peoples parting for him.

Come to think of it, wasn't Erik's cloak supposed to say "I am Red Death stalking abroad"? Honestly. That's what the book said it said, right? Maybe it's a translation problem... Hey, if this gets posted on ff, could someone, like, look this up for me and see if you can send the answer back in time to me? Please? 'Cause it's gonna bug me now...

He may have been nearly impossible to lose, but Erik was also nearly impossible to keep up with. I followed him up two, three, four floors, chasing after Raoul and Christine. Barely anyone was on the second floor, and no one but us two on the third or fourth. The love birds had disappeared. By the fourth floor, I was gasping for breath and my calves hurt. I never was one for running stairs—especially in a dress. I was just finally walking the last couple steps up when a hand shot out and pulled me against a wall. Red Death hovered over me as I let out a small shriek.

"God, Erik. Don't do that!" I said, wheezing slightly, my hand on my chest for my pounding chest and constricted lungs. "I already can't breathe! God…how can a fifty-year-old man run so fast up stairs?..."

"Why are you following me?" he demanded.

"To make sure you don't do something stupid," I wheezed. I held up a finger and proceeded to almost cough my lungs out trying to loosen my airways again. "…Next time, could you not run so fast when I'm trying to follow you…?"

"Or you could just not try to follow me."

"I could, but where would be the fun in that?"

Erik snorted and started back down the stairs. I followed at a safe distance.

"I like your costume," I smiled. "It's very you. Based off of Edgar Allen Poe's Red Death, isn't it?"

"I still don't see how a woman could read such things."

"Oh, I love Poe. _The Raven_ has got to be my favorite, though _The Tell-Tale Heart_ and _The Cask of Amontillado_ are close seconds," I beamed. "It's so much fun to watch the characters go insane."

Erik didn't say anything to that. As we came down to the second floor, I saw a door open just a crack and a black mask peek out. Erik didn't seem to notice. Then the door slammed shut. His head whipped back towards the door, but I started pushing Erik further down the hallway.

"Nothing to worry about. She's just saying good bye to him forever, and she'll come back to you after the party. Promise." Erik reluctantly allowed me to push him around a corner. "There, it wasn't so hard, was it?" Erik looked back, fighting with himself if he should go back or not. I sighed tiredly. "Just leave them, Erik, okay? She is going to come back to you and they aren't plotting anything together. Isn't that good enough?"

Erik hesitated for a moment before stalking off towards the rest of the party. I sighed and massaged my temples. Didn't anyone here know the meaning of "indoor volume"? Obviously not from the noise that the revelers were still making. I groaned and headed back to the hotel. I couldn't see Erik anywhere on my way out, and neither could Raoul, obviously, for he was asking everyone he saw if they had seen him. Yes they had, no they didn't know where he was currently. It was nearly one when I fell into bed, and I silently vowed to never, ever do anything like tonight again…

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**Shame-ed Begging:** I know it's been a long time, but things have been hectic with school and tests and other stuff... So here's a new chapter for you! :) Please don't be mad or worried if I don't post again for a while. Like I said, things are very hectic by me. Please! Tell me what you think about the Masked Ball!


	26. Chapter 26

The whole next day, I slept. I am not a morning person to begin with, and staying up until one did not help matters. By the time I woke up the first time, bright light was shining in through the curtains. "Damn fucking curtains," I remember muttering, crawling out of bed just long enough to close them properly, and muttering curses under my breath until I was back under my covers, a pillow on top of my head for good measure. I vaguely remember a knock on the door at some point, and I had to have thrown a pillow at it in my mostly-asleep state, because I woke up to find one on the floor in front of it. It was quite dark out again before I finally got up from too much sleep. I just couldn't sleep any more. While relaxing in a bath, I actually started to wake up.

"Fuck," I muttered. "Erik's gonna kill me…" I sighed, rubbing my forehead. "Well, at least it'll get rid of this migraine…"

It's amazing what a noisy party can bring on. Then again, I might have drunk something there that I really shouldn't have. I don't really remember. Whatever it was, my eyeballs felt like they were being shoved out of my skull. I remember vaguely that Raoul was supposed to see Christine at some point during the day today, and be real pissy. Christine admitted that there was no such thing as the Angel of Music, but didn't want to say more. She would have lost the deathly pallor that she had last night. But what did I care? My head was pounding, light hurt, and I didn't want to get out of this bath…

Eventually the cold water will drive just about anyone out of a bath—myself included. After the bath, I decided to take a walk outside—_after_ I got dressed, of course. ….Dirty minds you all have…Yes, I can hear you thinking that…flashing… The walk was nice. It cleared up my head a bit, though it was still pounding. I decided as long as I was awake, I could do some writing. Some of it actually got down on paper, too.

The next day, Christine and Raoul were actually talking to each other like civilized people. I understand that Christine actually suggested that they play engaged until Raoul left for his Polar sailing expedition that he was taking because Christine wasn't going to marry him. I was surprised that Erik actually allowed it. She still wore the gold ring that Erik gave her. Good thing, too. Erik swore that bad things would happen if she ever took it off or lost it. Which she will. I think it's kind of funny that she loses it. But then again, I don't like Christine. Anything to make her miserable makes me happy. I know. Mean, but true. Have you ever realized that whatever makes Christine happy—aside from singing—makes Erik sad and upset? Think about it.

That night, when I went to meet Erik at six, he wasn't exactly pleased with me.

"What happened to meeting with me at six?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Last night."

"I was passed out with a migraine. You wanna complain, take it up with the migraine department."

"The what?"

"The migraine department. And while you're there, see if you can get them to re-assign my migraine to someone else…It really hurts…" I said, rubbing my head.

Apparently Erik has learned not to argue with me about things like this. He only shook his head, dropping the subject and telling me about what Christine and Raoul were up to that day.

* * *

**Shame-ed begging:** Hey! Happy summer to all! I'm going to try to get more writing down this summer than what I have been doing, so hopefully the opera roof scene will happen soon! Thanks everyone for hanging in there with me. Please hit the green button and review for me. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to read what you think.


	27. Chapter 27

Erik was in a pretty good mood for the next week. As good a mood as can be expected, I guess, from a man who's "love of his life" is play-engaged to another man. He seemed a bit agitated, though. He wouldn't admit it, but I could tell. He was jealous. Christine was happy with Raoul, the man she loved, and was terrified of him. About a week in to the game, however, Erik was extremely distracted. It seemed that Christine had failed to return to him that night, which worried him greatly. Erik had apparently promised not to eavesdrop on Christine during her game with Raoul, and all he knew was that Christine had hurried out of the opera house. The next day, however, Christine had returned to him and said that she wanted to spend the next two or three days with him, which made Erik ecstatic. He and Christine were both ecstatic, a very rare occurrence, when Christine sang at the performance the next night. Thankfully, Carlotta was too terrified of the "toad" coming back if she was to sing on stage again to even attempt another performance, rumor had it. Thank God. Christine, I hear, was wonderful in the _Juive_. I, however, didn't go to see her. I am never going to see her perform again, if I can help it. Well, the night she disappears I might go, just so I know when to try to get back to Erik's house. Not sure how I'm going to manage that yet, though… Still working on that.

The day after the performance, Christine started hanging out with Raoul again. Their game had started back up. Erik was back to being jealous, but he did have one consolation—Raoul was jealous of him. Erik, who could control Christine like he did. Erik, however, didn't let Christine wander unsupervised now. He shadowed her wherever she went. Just to "make sure she was safe." At least, that's what he wanted me to believe, even well after the fact, when he admitted that he had shadowed her. Raoul and Christine started going for walks every day. On the stage, along a garden scene, across the catwalks and rigging. Anywhere in the opera, and Erik was fine with it. As long as they stayed in the opera house. They visited all the old hands that still lived at the opera house and listened to their stories. Erik admitted, however, that he rather preferred to leave them be when they stay there, for they could do it for hours, and he found it rather boring. With a small laugh and awkward grin he also admitted that perhaps he had been following them around a bit too much. Christine was starting to get paranoid, jumping at shadows she thought were him and running, dragging the poor fool of a boy behind her. Erik rather liked watching that last part, though.

On one particularly paranoid day, Erik said that Christine was looking rather ghastly, but was still eager to see Raoul. Needless to say, Erik, after telling Christine that he had some work to do on _Don Juan_, followed them around the upper part of the opera house. When Raoul saw her, he once more uttered some remark about saving Christine from this man and this life. Erik didn't find it amusing. Neither did Christine, apparently, for she glanced around wildly, exclaiming, "Hush! Hush, in heaven's name! Suppose _he_ heard you, you unfortunate Raoul!" And she started dragging him up the floors.

"I will remove you from his power, Christine, I swear it. And you shall not think of him any more." This made Erik let out a small growl, especially when Christine replied with,

"Is it possible?"

I wish I had seen and heard it myself, but as it is, I only have Erik's version to go off of. Besides, there would have been a few snags in my listening in. Firstly, I'm not nearly quiet enough to run and stay hidden at the same time—if I could keep up at all. And secondly, HAVE YOU SEEN THOSE CATWALKS??!!! Seriously, those catwalks are a nightmare for people scared of heights! They move, and have no real supports for you to hang on to, and damn if I'm not certain I'm going to fall each and every time I go up there…..It's a hell of a long way down to the floorboards…..

"I shall hide you in some unknown corner of the world, where _he_ cannot come to look for you. You will be safe; and then I shall go away…as you have sworn to never marry."

Christine stared at him for a moment, clasping his hands in hers, but then suddenly started and yelled, "Higher! Higher still!" continuing to drag Raoul along, darting from beam to beam until they emerged on the rooftop, oblivious to the shadow that followed them. He followed them closer still as they walked hand in hand along the rooftop and looked at their reflections in the water tower water. They sat down by Apollo's Lyre, Erik climbing up to cling to the Lyre itself. At some point recently, though I can't really put my finger on the day, winter had given way to spring, and so the weather was amiable, even with the setting of the sun. Eventually, Christine plucked up the courage to bring up the topic of leaving again.

"Soon we shall go faster and farther than the clouds, to the end of the world, and then you will leave me, Raoul. But, if, when the moment comes for you to take me away, I refuse to go with you—well you must carry me off by force!"

"Are you afraid that you will change your mind, Christine?" Raoul asked, afraid to lose her for good.

"I don't know…" She shook her head as if it were rusted almost solid. "He is a demon!" Erik could feel his heart breaking with those few words. Was that what she really thought of him? Christine shivered and fell in to Raoul's arms with a moan of despair. How Erik wished those had been his arms! "I am afraid now of going back to live with him…in the ground!"

"What compels you to go back, Christine?"

"If I do not go back to him, terrible misfortunes may happen!...But I can't do it, I can't do it!...I know one ought to be sorry for people who live underground…But he is too horrible!" Be sorry?! Be sorry for?!!! It was pity that kept her with him?!!! "And yet the time is at hand; I have only a day left; and, if I do not go, he will come and drag me with him, underground, and go on his knees before me, with his death's head. And he will tell me that he loves me! And he will cry! Oh, those tears, Raoul, those tears in the two black eye-sockets of the death's head! I can not see those tears flow again!"

Raoul and his soft, never-worked hands of his pressed Christine to himself and offered her words of comfort. "No, no, you shall never again hear him tell you that he loves you! You shall not see his tears! Let us fly, Christine, let us fly at once!"

Erik was appalled. Here he had let them spend time together until Raoul was to ship off for the Arctic. He ranted at me when he came back down, but I suppose it did him good. He wasn't quite as angry when he was done. Here he let them play at engaged, because _I_ had said it would be all right. _I _had said it wouldn't hurt. He should have forbidden Christine from ever seeing that boy ever again! Kept him out of _his_ opera house! Erik's opera house!

Erik was encouraged a little bit when Christine wouldn't let herself be dragged off, but that was short-lived.

"No, no. Not now!...It would be too cruel…let him hear me sing to-morrow evening…and then we will go away. You must come and fetch me in my dressing room at midnight exactly. He will then be waiting for me in the dining-room by the lake…we shall be free and you shall take me away…You must promise me that, Raoul, even if I refuse; for I feel that, if I go back this time, I shall perhaps never return."

Christine gave a small sigh that Erik mirrored in despair. She froze, listening intently. "…Didn't you hear?" Her teeth started to chatter, from cold or fear Erik couldn't rightly tell.

Raoul shook his head. "No, I heard nothing."

"It is too terrible," she moaned, "to be always trembling like this!...And yet we run no danger here; we are at home, in the sky, in the open air, in the light." Oh, if only she knew. She would have been terrified… "The sun is flaming; and the night-birds can not bear to look at the sun." You'd be amazed at how much a black mask cuts down on sunlight glare and lets you see better. Besides, Erik and I have walked in the sun before—just not for very long. "I have never seen _him_ by daylight…it must be awful!...Oh, the first time I saw him!...I thought that he was going to die."

"Why?" Raoul asked, fear tinting his voice.

"_Because I had seen him!"_

Erik couldn't help but let out a small moan of anguish on the passing breeze. Raoul and Christine both spun around.

"There is someone in pain," Raoul said. "Perhaps someone has been hurt. Did you hear?" Yes, Erik had been hurt.

"I can't say. Even when he is not there, my ears are full of his sighs. Still, if you heard…" Just because she couldn't see Erik, doesn't mean that Erik's not there.

They stood up and looked around, but couldn't see anyone. So they sat back down. Raoul picked up the conversation. "Tell me how you saw him first."

Erik claimed he quit listening. Really, though, Erik is a perfectionist insomniac. Quit listening my ass. He just didn't want to tell me the next part. The part where she tells what they did for the two weeks she disappeared. Erik has never told me anything of the night when she ripped off his mask. I wish he had. It does people some good to talk about hurt like that. Erik says he quit listening because it was his history with Christine. Why should he listen to what he already knew? And he felt no need to relate it to me, nor even a desire to. He said that he occasionally sighed or whispered something right behind them, just to frighten them a bit and keep them on edge, but he wasn't really listening…

He said he was brought back by Christine once more calling him "Poor Erik! Poor Erik!" It was quite dark out, and Raoul finally stood. "Christine, You tell me that you love me; but you had recovered your liberty hardly a few hours before you returned to Erik! Remember the masked ball!"

"Yes," she said, tears in her eyes, "and do you remember those hours which I passed with you, Raoul…to the great danger of both of us?"

"I doubted your love for me, during those hours."

"Do you doubt it still, Raoul?...Then know that each of my visits to Erik increased my horror of him; for each of those visits, instead of calming him, as I hoped, made him mad with love!...And I am so frightened, so frightened!..."

"You are frightened…but do you love me?" I still can't believe it. The girl is practically passing out from fear, and instead of comforting her, Raoul presses her about if she actually loves him! If she had said no, would he have left her up there to die of fright by herself? "If Erik were good-looking, would you love me, Christine?" I'm sorry. You just don't ask something like that. When someone's appearance scares you almost to death, you just can't imagine them any other way. Raoul needed a good smack along side the head.

"Unhappy man! Why do you tempt fate? Why do you ask me about things that I hide deep in my conscience the way I would hide a sin?" Christine finally stood and wrapped her arms around Raoul's neck. "Oh, my betrothed of a day, if I did not love you, I would not give you my lips! Take them, for the first time and the last."

Raoul kissed her, and Erik let loose such a banshee's scream from atop Apollo's Lyre! People in their homes for almost a mile round must have heard it! The idiotic love-birds almost jumped out of their skins, and they ran, ironically, for the safety of the inside of the opera house, terrified of the huge back night-creature that stared at them with flaming eyes clinging to the Lyre's strings. Erik was quick to follow them down.

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**Shame-ed begging and a few notes:** _Thank you all for sticking with me! My summer math course is killing me, and so I don't get as much time as I would really like to write... Also, I've gotten a few complaints about the narrator's language. I'm really sorry it bothers you, and I try not to put it in often, but, well, in all honesty, a 21st century girl is going to swear every now and again. She gets angry, and the rest of her vocabulary just fails her. So, we're finally getting to the good stuff, and I think the Persian is goin gto show up more now. Hopefully the narrator will be able to spend some more time wth Erik, too. ^^ Please click the green button at the bottom of the page and tell me what you think! Please?? -sad, sad puppy-dog eyes-_


	28. Chapter 28

You know that I have a dark side that I like to flaunt every now and again. Usually I can get by with just writing something dark and bloody, but sometimes… When I got up that morning, I didn't realize that it was the day that Christine would take Raoul up to the roof and lose her gold ring from Erik. All I knew was that I was in a dark mood, and I had no intention of writing that day. I got up and stood in front of the mirror, stretched a bit, fluffed my messy hair, and could think of only two words: Mrs. Lovett. I grinned evilly and, shuffling through my clothes, found the perfect outfit for the day. Nice and dark and gloomy. Mind you, I had to mix and match, but who in their right minds would sell what Mrs. Lovett would wear anyways? I would. My hair took me longer than I thought it would to fix to a proper rat's nest—a couple hours before I was satisfied, undoing and redoing it. A couple layers of face powder until my skin was nicely pallid, and some black makeup to sink in my eyes, pale pink on the lips, black nail polish. I looked an absolute fright when I was done, and it was perfect.

My day was spent outside in the sunshine, scaring people and singing _Sweeney Todd_. It was marvelous. People started walking on the other side of the street from me, casting glances and whispering. By five-thirty, though, I had to call it quits and head off to the Opera House to meet Erik. I waited until maybe ten minutes after six before I left from by the lake. If Erik didn't show up by then, he wasn't going to. It wasn't my fault if he missed me. So I decided to head up to the Opera House proper and see who else I could scare.

The foyer was pretty empty. Not many people were up and about at this time of evening. So I sat on the large base of a statue and waited for a victim--er, I mean passer-by. I set my basket that I had with me next to me. Erik's been nice and started giving me an allowance so I can go out and get food and pretty shiny things. I took out the dagger that Erik had bought for me way back for the Masquerade. Looking at it, I started to hum, then sing to myself. "_These are my friends, see how they glisten? See this one shine, how he smiles in the light, My friends, my faithful friends...Speak to me, friend; whisper, I'll listen. I know, I know, you've been locked out of sight All these years! Like me, my friend! Well, I've come home -- to find you waiting! Home, and we're together...And we'll do wonders...Won't we...?"_

My head snapped up as I head someone coming. "A customer!" I rushed over to the startled ballerina, an excited gleam in my eyes as I smiled and quickly guided her over to the steps by my basket. "_Wait! What's your rush? What's your hurry? You gave me such a -- Fright, I thought you was a ghost! Half a minute, can't'cher sit! Sit you down, sit! All I meant is that I haven't seen a customer for weeks!"_

"Bu-but!—"

"_Did you come here for a pie, ma'am? Do forgive me if me head's a little vague--"_ I sifted through my basket, then pretended to spot something. "Ugh! What is that?" Whack! went my hand on the 'bug' in the basket. "_But you think we had the plague! From the way that people, keep avoiding--_No you don't!" Whack! _"Heaven knows I try, ma'am! But there's no one comes in even to inhale! Right you are, ma'am, would you like a drop of ale?"_ I paused. "Oh, that's right. There isn't anymore…" I shrugged and handed the frightened creature a meat (and sand) pie from my basket. "_Mind you, I can't hardly blame them. These are probably the worst pies in London! I know why nobody cares to take them, I should know, I make them, But good? No! The worst pies in London, Even that's polite! The worst pies in London, If you doubt it, take a bite!"_ She actually did. But I was staring at her, my chin in my hand and leaning against the statue base, just waiting for her to try it. "_Is that just disgusting? You have to concede it! It's nothing but crusting! Here, drink this, you'll need it!"_ I handed her a cup of water. And I swear, the snow I melted for it was clean. "_The worst pies in London...And no wonder with the price of meat What it is -- when you get it, Never -- Thought I'd live to see the day Men'd think it was a treat, Findin' poor – animals Wot are dyin' in the street!"_ She started to get up to go, only one bite taken, and that only force-swallowed, but I started up again. "_Mrs. Mooney has a pie shop! Does her business but I notice something weird. Lately all her neighbors' cats have disappeared! Have to hand it to her --Wot I calls, "enterprise"! Poppin' pussies into pies!" _The girl looked absolutely revolted and glanced down at her pie._ "Wouldn't do in my shop! Just the thought of it's enough to make you sick! And I'm tellin' you, them pussycats is quick...!"_

I paused again, and the ballerina finally made a break for it, leaving the pie behind. I hurried after her a bit. _"No denying times is hard, ma'am. Even harder than the worst pies in London! Only lard and nothing more --Is that just revolting, All greasy and gritty? It looks like it's molting, And tastes like...Well, pity…"_ I had lost her. I started back to my statue and basket to sit down again. _"A woman alone, With limited wind, And the worst pies in London! Ah, ma'am, times is hard, Times is hard...!"_

I laughed. I didn't really think she was going to stay through the whole song! But it was close, at least! So much fun! She looked like she was going to puke by the time she lost me.

Erik, though, must have gotten himself in to some kind of trouble, I figured, because here came the Persian, stalking about like a mad hatter. I quickly slid the bitten pie away back in the basket and slid up to him, the same evil gleam in my eye that I gave the ballerina. "_Wait! What's your rush? What's your hurry? You gave me such a -- Fright, I thought you was a ghost! Half a minute, can't'cher sit! Sit you down, sit! All I meant is that I haven't seen a customer for weeks!"_

"What?! What is this?! What happened to you?!"

"This is my outfit for the day," I said with an evil grin and a twirl. "Don't you like it?"

"You look like some creature got a hold of you!"

"I know! Isn't it wonderful?" I sighed. "You're looking for Erik, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm looking for him," he said, irritated. "Where is he?"

I shrugged. "How should I know? He didn't show up by the lake for our meeting, so I left. Not my fault."

"No, but something might very well be his if we don't find him."

"Did you check with Christine?"

"She can't be found, either, nor the Viscomte."

A chill ran down my spine. "Ah…the roof would be my next guess…But he'll be down soon, I'm sure," I smiled, then pulled him over by my basket and handed him a meat pie.

He blinked, staring at it. "What's this?"

I grinned innocently. "_It's priest. Have a little priest. Is it really good? Sir, it's too good, at least! Then again, they don't commit sins of the flesh, So it's pretty fresh. Awful lot of fat. But only where it sat."_ I pawed through my different pies. "_And I've got poet, and all things like that_." I pulled out another pie and looked at it disdainfully. _"But, y'see, the trouble with poet is 'Ow do you know it's deceased?"_ I dropped it back and waved him on for the pie I gave him. "_Try the priest!_ Heavenly!" I pulled out two more, holding one up, then the other. "_Not as hearty as bishop, perhaps ,but then again, not as bland as curate, either! And good for business, too -- always leaves you wantin' more!" _I dropped them back in_. "Trouble is, I only get it on Sundays!" _I pulled out another._ "Lawyer's rather nice. If it's for a price." _I dropped it back in disdainfully and wiped my hand on my skirt_. "Order something else, though, to follow, Since no one should swallow it twice! Anything that's lean?" _Out came another_. "Well, then, if you're British and loyal, You might enjoy Royal Marine! Anyway, it's clean. Though of course, it tastes of wherever it's been!"_ I shrugged and put it back.

The Persian stared at me in horror and carefully put the meat pie back in my basket. I laughed. "If marine doesn't appeal to you, 'ow about... rear admiral?"

He was saved, however, by Raoul and Christine coming thundering down from upstairs like a ghost was after them. The Persian quickly intercepted them blocking their path. "No! Not this way!" They diverted to a side hall.

I rolled my eyes. "You sure know how to ruin someone's fun."

He turned back angrily. "Fun like yours is a dangerous sort, and tends to get people hurt!"

I stood my ground and stared him in the eye. "You may be able to guilt Erik in to not hurting you, but I have no problem doing major damage…Did you know that just puncturing the aorta artery takes four minutes for a person to bleed out, but slicing across the entire neck only takes roughly thirty seconds?"

Again the Persian was saved, this time by Erik. "You again?! Haven't I proven anything to you?!"

The Persian's attention snapped to Erik and he stalked over. "Only that you know how to frighten a poor girl!"

I rolled my eyes. "Erik. They went that way." I pointed towards the hall they had escaped down. "Christine's dressing room, if I had to guess."

The Persian attempted to grab Erik's arm, but he slipped away and down the hall in a flash. The Persian spun to face me, who was already starting to put my own things back away and preparing to leave. "Why did you tell him?!"

"Several reasons. One of them being that he was bound to find them, and it's my j—" I looked up at him, then turned to leave. He grabbed my arm, and I spun around, twisting his arm back. "Don't do that. I do know how to beat you in to the ground." I let go and walked out.

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**Shame-ed begging: **_Ah, another chapter. Please, press the little green button and let me know what you think! Please?_


	29. Chapter 29

I spent an hour or two just wandering about town. The air was nicely chilled, not too cold by Wisconsin standards. The winter had been mild so far, with chilled nights and not a lot of snow. It's not a lot of fun to play in the snow by yourself, though. Mini snowmen, throwing snowballs at stationary objects, like trees, snow angels. I would have climbed a snow bank or two if the snow had been piled higher… Oh well.

…Ice sliding's fun, too, but there wasn't enough on the sidewalk and street, and I wasn't about to test what ice was on the river…

On my way back to the hotel, probably at some ungodly hour, I found Erik. He was leaning with one hand against a building and shaking his head as if to clear it.

"Erik…?" I asked, approaching him. He turned to look at me and hissed, turning away again. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said gruffly. "What on earth are you wearing?"

I smiled. "It's my outfit for the day. I was feeling rather dark…" I trailed off as I spotted blood on the side of his head and frowned. "You're bleeding. What happened?"

"It's nothing." He started to walk a little unsteadily down the street. "You're insane for choosing to dress like that."

"And you're insane for telling me it's nothing. Just come back to the hotel with me and let me clean it."

"No."

I stood in front of him seriously with my arms folded across my chest. "Erik, I _could _kick you in the shin, balls, or both and drag you back with me, but neither of us would likethat…"

He wrapped his bony hand around my throat. "And I _could_ strangle the life out of you right now, but only one of us would like that…"

I stared at him stonily, and he glared back. Funny how it didn't seem to bother me anymore, his stare. I simply stared back, waiting for him to let go. A melody started playing in my head, though, and my lip twitched up in a grim smile.

"_Seems a downright shame... Seems an awful waste... Such a nice, plump frame wot's 'is name has...had...has! Nor it can't be traced... Bus'ness needs a lift, debts to be erased... Think of it as thrift, as a gift, if you get my drift… No? Seems an awful waste... I mean, with the price of meat what it is, when you get it, if you get it.._." Erik let go and brushed past me, staggering down the street, but trying to look like he wasn't. I smiled a bit brighter and skipped lightly over to him. I touched his arm lightly as I sang, but he jerked his arm away. "_Good, you got it. Take for instance Mrs. Mooney and her pie shop--bus'ness never better using only pussycats and toast… Now a pussy's good for maybe six or seven at the most… And I'm sure they can't compare as far as taste!"_

Erik spun on me, his eyes blazing. "Stop it!" he hissed. "Just stop it!" I shrank back a bit, a tremor going down my spine and all humor leaving me. "What right do you think you have to dress like that?! To look like…_that?!_ Do you really think it's humorous to look like that? You put the make-up on on a whim, and you take it off again when it suits you! Just a mask for you! An article of clothing! You don't have to live with it as your face! The human race staring while trying not to!" He started to stalk towards me, and I scrambled back just out of his reach, frightened. "You, who has such a beautiful face, _want_ to disfigure your face in such a _loathsome_ way. And for what?! Your amusement! To see others shrink from you and whisper behind your back."

I shrank back a bit, another shudder coursing through me. "I-I'm sorry…" I whispered meekly, looking down. "I'll take it off… I was just kind of bored, and the music was stuck in my head…I didn't mean anything by it, really." He glared down at me for another moment, then turned and continued his almost hidden stagger. I blinked back the tears that were threatening. "But I'm not pretty…I'm not even close… I was just trying to help you, Erik…"

I brushed past him this time as I hurried by, back to the hotel. It was best just to go back to my room. I really should have stayed there. I could have stayed and sung. But no, I had to go out and scare people today as Mrs. Lovette… I slipped a few times on the ice in my hurry. Those shoes are not good on ice. And I was going to have the bruises to prove it. Once I landed hard on my hip, and I ended up kind of limping back to the hotel and up the stairs to my room. Once back behind the safety of a locked door, I dropped my cloak on the floor and set to work taking off that damnable corset. I still hate that damn thing. Once I could breathe properly again, I washed off the make-up. Never again would that make-up come back out, either.

I sat in a corner for a bit, only half dressed, when I finally looked up because it had suddenly gotten cold in my room. My window was open, thanks to the Erik standing in my room now. I gave a small sigh as I looked away.

"I thought you would have retreated to your cave under the opera by now…"

"You said you wanted to help."

I looked up again. "Would you let me?"

"Would I be here if I wouldn't?"

I let out a small laugh as I got up and got something to clean the wound. "Maybe. Just because it might be humorous. People do strange things when they're bored." I sat on the edge of the bed and waited. Finally, I had to say "Sit. You be tall person. I be short person. Short person no reach tall person's head if tall person be standing." Erik sat reluctantly. I bit my lip before hesitantly asking my next question. "…Can you take off the mask, please? I-it's kinda in the way…"

"Then you can 'kind of' ignore it," came his terse reply.

"Erik, please. I can't do much with it still on, and you're not going to scare me." He still didn't go for it, and I sighed. "…Please…just for a few minutes. I'll show you something I don't normally show anyone, either, afterwards. All right? You can think what you want of me after that…"

Erik reluctantly untied his mask and set it aside. I had to kneel on the bed to reach his forehead. Thankfully, de Chagny is a bad shot in the dark and had only grazed the side of his head. Erik didn't flinch as I cleaned it, but then again, he didn't look at me, either. He had his eyes shut the entire time.

Erik's face wasn't horrifying, as some think. It was a bit more pitiful than anything. Years away from the sun had made his skin so very pale and sickly-looking. His eyes and cheeks were sunken in—he really should get more sleep and more to eat on a regular basis. It looked like his nose had gotten torn off at the base—or maybe it had just never grown in the first place. And his lips were so thin, they almost didn't exist. Angry, Erik would look terrifying. His eyes blazing in fury, his jaw set, and his voice hissing through his teeth. Just sitting there, though…he looked kind of…pitiful…

I wrapped his head gently and left to put the supplies back. When I turned back, his mask was back in place. I took a deep breath.

"I've always found dragons to be majestic creatures—powerful and noble, though not always distinctly good or evil. Metallic dragons tend to be good creatures, while chromatic dragons tend to seek their own good. But…I've always had a fascination with the black dragons, despite what would send others running—like its ability to spit acid, or its tendency to pickle its food for weeks before eating it…"

"And what's your point?"

"…I figured I might as well show you my fourth tattoo, since you've already seen my other three, and you let me see under your mask…"

I turned my back to him and took a deep breath as I carefully tugged up my shirt, passing it over my head, but keeping it in front of my chest and stomach. And three it was—my masterpiece of my tattoos. A black dragon rearing on my whole back. Outstretched to the sides, its wings would have gone out to my elbows, but they had been pulled back in the picture, as if about to come down in another devastating whirlwind. Its scales were the color of coals, dulled and etched with acid. Its underbelly was covered with sickly yellow-green scales. The front claws were up, poised to attack, and acid drooled from its mouth. A horn curled out from either side of its head, as if they were eye guards for the massive creature, but they, too, were acid-stained a sickly grey-green color. Its face was frightening, though, if you were to look in to its eyes. Yellow slitted eyes stared back, daring you to attack, out of a skull for a head. The eyes were sunken deep in the head, the base of every tooth showed, and would have been even if the half-gone lips hadn't been pulled back in a snarl, and the scales were all etched with the acid that the creature loved so much, almost disintegrated while still on the skull. The wings pulled back across my shoulder blades while the dragon sat of my spine, and its long tail curved around my body, over my hip, and to my belly-button in the front, the end covered in barbs.

Erik got up, and I could feel his fingers lightly brushing against my back. And then he was gone. I was left alone in my room once again without so much as a—well, anything.

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**Shame-ed begging and A/N: **_I was told today, after he had read part of this story, that I was the most random person he had ever met. ^^ It made me happy. Anyway, PLEASE review for me! School's starting again, and I'm trying my hardest to keep writing this for you all!_


	30. Chapter 30

I didn't think much about the next day—until I got the ticket for the box seat that Erik sent for me. I looked at what was playing—_Faust_—and had two words for it. "Ah, shit."

I spent almost all the afternoon muttering to myself how stupid I had to be to forget that Christine was going to be abducted tonight. And I, in all my genius, had put off thinking about how I was supposed to get to Erik afterwards. Erik, I was pretty sure, was going to avoid our scheduled meeting. He had more important things to do—like prepare for Christine. The Persian knew of a way into his house. And, in _his_ genius, would lead Raoul in to Erik's torture chamber and their almost death. Philippe would try to get across the lake. Moron. That's insta-death. However, the only way I know how to get to, though, that doesn't include a trip into a metal forest, is across the lake. And that brings Erik out to kill anyone who tries.

I paused as I thought about it while getting ready, and then I laughed. De Changy would get at least part way before Erik would get drawn out. If I could hitch a ride with him, Erik might not pay attention because he had already gotten de Chagny. Until eight was spent planning for the rest of the night, writing down everything I could remember and plotting counter-attacks.

Quarter after eight, my carriage arrived. It was a quiet ride as I considered as many possibilities for the night that I could. I absolutely despise the crowds inside the opera house, so I spent the time outside in the cool air. It was nice for being so early in the year. A full moon without clouds, so it was bright, but cold. Quite relaxing, really. Just before I went in, around nine, a fourth carriage pulled up behind the three that had already been there. The head one Philippe de Chagny had dismounted from. I'm not sure who the other two were for, but the last one was for Raoul. No one came out, but of that I'm sure. All of them were dressed for the cold, but Raoul's driver seemed over-done—dressed for a winter at least thirty degrees colder that what we were having, with his face almost non-existent in the many folds of his muffler. Not at all suspicious. Like a spy who wears a long tan trench coat, tan fedora, and a black face-concealing scarf, walking around with his hands in his pockets, all silent and mysterious. And the two horses pulling the carriage didn't help matters. Instead of the sleek horses that are used around town, these were powerful creatures, made for out-running even the fastest of horses. I don't blame the figure that approached them for heading straight for them. A man in a long black cloak and a floppy black felt hat came out of the darkness, walking on the sidewalk, and went right up to Raoul's carriage. He examined the whole affair carefully, and then left without saying a word. In reality, it could have been anyone; however, he had the very noticeable gait of not having any gait. He kind of floated along the ground, silently. Very few people can do that, and Erik is one of them. A few last calculations, I guess. Perhaps deciding that she should disappear before the end of the performance, instead of trying to catch the carriage.

I headed inside, out of the cold. It was almost time for the opera to start, and my hands were actually starting to get cold. Inside, I had to stifle a laugh. The managers were walking backwards, talking to an invisible person. It was quite hilarious to watch, especially since I knew it was because they were trying to figure out how Erik took his allowance every month. I quickly withdrew to my seat. There was a very large audience that night, and most of them were whispering amongst themselves. Raoul was not in his seat, and Philippe was sitting there, almost indifferent, but kind of zoning out, too. When the opera began, Christine didn't get a very warm reception. An igloo would have been warmer. The audience seemed to turn collectively to the de Chagny box on certain stanzas of her songs, interpreting the songs as they saw fit. And, as the night progressed, Christine sang worse and worse. She seemed positively ill. She should have stayed in bed. When she looked her worst, Carlotta made a fashionably late entrance to her box. Christine saw her come in, and she seemed to gather herself up. Suddenly, she could sing as she did her first night—and better yet. She seemed to thrive on Carlotta's presence, and did better than her best that night. I almost got to watch the entire performance, for once. It was the last act, and Christine was singing some of her last lines—I think. I don't know how much more of the opera was actually after this part. We never got to finish it. "Holy angel, in Heaven blessed," she sang, and Raoul stood up in the center of the house—right underneath the fateful chandelier. She lifted her arms to the heavens and continued, "My spirit longs with thee to rest!"

The whole house went dark.

When the gas lights came back, Christine was gone, and the whole house went mad. Raoul let out a cry and fought his way through the crowds to get to the stage. Other patrons raced out of the house and into the lobby, and more milled around in the house. On stage, people where running around in confusion, and Raoul was calling for Christine, as if she would answer from the nether realms. The Comte had jumped to his feet and was already on his way out of his box. I needed to catch him, and quick. I was just on my way out of my box when I heard the announcement from the other lead actor, Carolus Fonta, "Ladies and gentlemen, an unprecedented event has taken—"

I was out the door and down the hall. Blah, blah, blah, Christine was gone, and it was a mystery. There was a great many people in the halls already, and by the time I had gotten to the stairs, I was afraid Philippe had already disappeared. Almost tripping down the stairs, I saw the Comte heading for the door, and I somehow managed to escape into the night air myself, ignoring, and almost not seeing, the Persian as we passed each other on the stairs. Philippe was just getting in to his carriage as I was coming out. "Philippe de Chagny! Wait!" He paused long enough to look behind at me.

"Mademoiselle, I have no time for this." And he started back into his carriage.

"But, Monsieur, I know where they are! You are looking for Christine, yes?"

"Yes, and I have no time for your silly fancies on where she might be!" He slammed the door, and the carriage took off.

"They're not fancies!" Too late. He was gone. "Jackass…" I huffed and started back in, only to get almost bowled over by Raoul, who was on his way out. Carefully following him, he went to the Rue Scribe, stopping about twenty feet away from where the gate was, and started looking. He must have been looking for the gate. Stopped a little too short of it, buddy. He kept going around the building, but of course, Erik was good at disguising the real entrance. Raoul went around the side, and I went back to the front and inside. Philippe was coming back eventually. Hopefully. I decided to wait inside simply because it was warmer in there. However, I also kept an eye out on the street from the doorway. Raoul came back through and up the stairs. After a few minutes, the Persian interrupted my watch, though.

"What are you doing here?!" he demanded, hurrying to my side.

"I came for the show, and now I'm waiting for a carriage to show up," I said plainly. It was all true.

"But why are you here?"

"…I got a ticket and I wanted to watch the show." I thought I'd gone over this already. "And Erik wanted to show off, apparently. Actually, I should say, Erik gave me a ticket so I could watch the show. No way I was missing this show."

"Y-You _knew_ what was going to happen and you didn't do anything?!"

I rolled my eyes. "Not like I could stop him. Besides, I wasn't about to tell anyone about Erik." I glanced up the stairs where the managers' office is. "And you're on a time restraint tonight. You really don't want to waste it on me."

"Wha-what do you really know about tonight?"

"I know Raoul is talking about Erik in the managers' office right about now…"

"No," he shook his head. "No. The boy isn't that dense."

"Isn't he?" I asked, an eyebrow raised.

He paused, watching me to see if I was lying, and then took off up the stairs again. I grinned. Raoul was just stupid enough to tell the police everything he knew about Erik. I could just see Raoul coming down the hall from where I was, and the Persian met him in the hall. A few more minutes after they disappeared down the hall, I glanced back outside, and saw a carriage pull back up. Philippe jumped down and hurried back in.

"Ready to listen?" I asked.

He spun to look at me. "What do you know about all this?"

I sighed. "People keep asking me that tonight. Do I have a note stuck to me that says 'I know things'?"

He gave me an annoyed glare. "You're wasting my time, then, mademoiselle."

"Wait," I said hurriedly as he turned to go. "Sorry. It was a reflex. Look, they're under the opera house. I know a quick way there, but it's not necessarily safe…"

"What is in this opera house?" he growled, chewing on his mustache in impatience. "Just tell me where."

"It would be easiest to show you." I motioned him to follow and went outside. He followed me around to the Rue Scribe side and to the entrance that wasn't readily apparent in the dark.

"There's nothing here."

I motioned him in and slipped into the shadows and into the hidden recess that the gate was in. I pulled the key out of my pocket and opened the door. I waved him in, which he did cautiously, and then locked the gate behind us again.

"This way."

I lead the way down to the lake. Philippe was dubious the entire way, hesitant to believe me, but since I locked the gate, he couldn't really turn back. Down at the lake, the boat was still on our side of the lake, thankfully, and all was still and quiet. Not even a ripple disturbed the serenity of the mirror lake.

"There's a house across the lake. They're there, and if we hurry, we can get there shortly."

"We? There is no we. You're staying here, mademoiselle. I am not putting you in danger."

"You are taking me," I said almost dangerously, "because I know how to set off every one of these traps and alarms that are around here."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I don't threaten. I promise. And I will set off every one of the deadly traps if I don't go with."

He growled and chewed on his mustache, thinking, and then gave in. "Very well. Get in, and I will take us across. Just make sure we don't set anything off while we go."

I quickly got in and he pushed the boat off, getting in and starting to paddle us across the glass lake.

* * *

**Shame-ed begging:** _Please forgive the long time since I've last updated. I've been going through a lot at school and a broken arm. But here's the next chapter, finally, and I hope you all are still reading. Please review all! I'll update again when I can, but I've got some tough classes coming up. See you all in the reviews! PLEASE...._


	31. Chapter 31

I hid in the bottom of the bow as Philippe rowed. He didn't understand why I was doing it, and I didn't explain. Though, I'm almost positive he knew I knew about a trap I wasn't telling him about. Once or twice he tried talking, but I cut him off, motioning him to be quiet. Last thing I needed was for Erik to figure out there were two people in the boat because this idiot was talking to me. We were almost half-way across before the Siren's song began. It was absolutely beautiful and mesmerizing. I closed my eyes to listen, but when I opened them again, Philippe had stopped. I snapped my fingers at him, glaring, to snap him back. "Ssst. Ssst." He blinked quickly, face snapping back to me. I motioned him to keep going. We got a bit passed half-way before he got to the point I couldn't snap him back. We stopped. He leaned a bit over the side to get closer, hear better. Sudden quiet.

A black vice grip suddenly exploded from the water, gripping Philippe around the neck and dragging him out of the boat and under the water. I had to almost swallow my tongue to keep from screaming. I braced against the insides of the boat, it rocking back and forth from the initial shock, and then for what felt like forever as the water thrashed about, Philippe and Erik struggling in the water. Eventually the water quieted, and the winner was apparent as Philippe's body floated to the surface. Erik surfaced momentarily, his dark form bobbing slightly in the darker water. He disappeared again, followed by Philippe's body. I could only guess that he was going to deposit the body back on the far shore, which meant he was coming back this way to get back to the house. I didn't dare move, lest he suspect something. I really didn't want to join Philippe on the far shore. It felt like an eternity, and I swear I could almost hear my pulse echoing off the cave walls. Then the boat started moving again, like someone was pushing, or pulling it. I only prayed that Erik didn't look inside the boat. Thankfully, my slight fear that I was returning to the far shore was unfounded. He apparently didn't want to be disturbed again. We landed on the shore by the house, and I heard Erik get out of the water, dripping wet. I didn't move, not even dare to breathe. Maybe he wouldn't look in the boat...

"You!" he hissed, dragging me out of the boat by the arm with a yelp. "What the devil are you doing here, girl?"

"Making sure Philippe died tonight?" I asked with a timid smile.

"You're going to ruin everything!" he hissed angrily, his grip tightening to bruising strength as he twisted my arm behind my back. "Give Erik a good reason Erik shouldn't strangle your interfering neck right now."

"Aaaah! Owowowowowow! Arm! Arm!" I whimpered, leaning towards my twisted arm to try to relieve some pressure. Like a python, though, the more I leaned to relieve the pressure, the more he applied. "'Cause Christine's already tried to kill herself once tonight! How do you know she won't do it again?"

"Erik has her restrained. She won't be able to do so again."

"Yeah, that's good for the romance," I hissed in pain. It had to be the left arm he grabbed, the one I had broken before and had never regained all its strength. "As long as she's kinky and gets excited about being tied up. Otherwise, she's scared shitless."

"It's for her own good. Erik will untie her when she calms down."

"Erik, no one ever calms down when they're tied up and scared for their life. Ow! You're hurting me! Let go! Erik!"

He finally growled and let go of my arm, only to grab a large wad of my hair in his fist and drag me into his house with me protesting about my hair this time. "Silence!" he hissed, depositing me on a sofa. "Christine is in the Louise-Philippe Room, and Erik will not have you upset her more with your shrieks. Erik does not have the luxury of time right now to take you back across the lake, where you belong; so you will just have to remain here." He paced for a moment, thinking, and possibly calming down a bit. "Yes. You will remain here. Erik will take you back when Erik has time, later. For now, stay out of Erik's way; and do not be seen. The library. Stay in the library. You like the library." He walked back to the Louise-Philippe Room, stopped in front of the door for a moment, and went in, completely unfazed that he was still dripping wet from his swim.

I heard a great sigh, and then a scream of horror from Christine.

"I beg your pardon for letting you see a face like this! What a state I am in, am I not?" Erik almost sounded cheerful as he talked. "It's _the other one's fault!_ Why did he ring? Do _I_ ask people who pass to tell me the time? He will never ask anybody the time again! It is the siren's fault." He sighed again, as if the weight of the universe rested on him. "Why did you cry out, Christine?"

"Because I am in pain, Erik." Oh, what a horrible liar! And I thought she was an actress!

"I thought I had frightened you." And he would have thought right. I could only roll my eyes and make gestures at the door. Oh, the mind of a love-struck male, ready to believe any lie a dim-witted blond is trying to cook up in her little mind at a moment's notice.

"Erik, unloose my bonds…Am I not your prisoner?" …Quick grammatical question here. Did she just ask him to tighten her bonds? Kind of like how you have to freeze something to un-thaw it…

"You will try to kill yourself again."

"You have given me until eleven o'clock to-morrow evening, Erik."

"After all, as we are to die together…and I am just as eager as you…yes, I have had enough of this life, you know. …Wait, don't move, I will release you. You have only one word to say: _'No!'_ And it will at once be over _with everybody!_" Great. Just great. I just put my life in the hands of a pea-brained blonde whose wits and smarts are outmatched by the laziest cat I have ever owned! Hopefully, her primal instinct for survival will lead her to an intelligent decision. "You are right, you are right; why wait till eleven o'clock to-morrow evening? True, it would have been grander, finer…But that is childish nonsense…We should only think of ourselves in this life, of our own death…the rest doesn't matter… _You're looking at me because I am all wet?_ …Oh, my dear, it's raining cats and dogs outside! ...Apart from that, Christine, I think I am subject to hallucinations…" That would be called sleep deprivation, dear. That happens when you don't sleep. Damn insomniac… "You know, the man who rang at the siren's door just now—go and see if he's ringing at the bottom of the lake-well, he was rather like…..There, turn round…are you glad? You're free now…Oh, my poor Christine, look at your wrists: tell me, have I hurt them?" The jerk! Not once—out of all the times he's grabbed me and left bruises for weeks, not _once_ did he feel sorry for hurting me! And here he is, fawning over that…_thing_! Ooohhh…I so wanted to strangle her…stab her in her pretty, stupid little face… "That alone deserves death…Talking of death, I must sing his requiem!"

I made a mad dash for the library. Erik would be so pissed if he found me outside the library. I passed a bag that I knew held only two keys—one to open the door to the torture chamber, and one to activate and de-activate the machine running the tortures. Before I knew it, I had stopped, removed both keys from the bag, replaced the bag on the wall, and darted back into the library. Just in time, too. Erik came out of the Louise-Philippe Room and headed to his room and his organ. I quickly weighed in my mind what stupid thing I had brewing in there now. Erik was going to be pissed when he found I had the keys… …Shit. Raoul and the Persian had to already have been in the torture chamber. That means Christine was coming out to fetch the bag. There had to be keys in there, or everyone would throw a fit. …Come to think of it…Raoul was in the torture chamber… I pulled out both keys quickly.

"Let's see," I muttered. "Bronze or silver? Door latch to the room is silver, so the key should be silver, too." I slid the bronze key back in, the silver key in my bodice, and my silver hotel room key back in the bag. Just so there were two keys. I had to run back out to put the keys back, and had just made it back to the library when Christine slinked out of her room. She took her sweet time as Erik played Philippe's requiem, getting to the bag. On her way back to the room, the bag hit the edge of a table, and Erik stopped his playing.

"What have you done with my bag?" rang out the God-voice.

* * *

**A/N and Shame-ed begging: **_I know it's been a really, really long time since I've posted-almost a year, in fact-but I'm finally back on track, and there's not much left to this story. DX On the plus side, I've been working on a sequel to this story. Not much about Erik, but he and the Persian do make occassional appearances. ^^ It's more about what happens to Jessica afterward. So, if you like our narrator, keep an eye out for the sequel after this story's done. Unfortunately, I have yet to name it... -.-' So, anyways, that's my excuse for not working on this one for so long. ^^' Please forgive me, and please keep reading and reviewing!_


	32. Chapter 32

"What have you done with my bag?" he repeated, obviously p-o'ed. "So it was to take my bag that you asked me to release you!" Christine ran back to her room, but couldn't get her door closed before Erik followed her in. "What are you running away for? Give me back my bag, will you? Don't you know that it is the bag of life and death?"

"Listen to me, Erik," she replied in an almost sickeningly sweet voice. "As it is settled that we are to live together….what difference can it make to you?"

"You know that there are only two keys in it. What do you want to do?"

"I want to look at this room which I have never seen and you have always kept from me." From all the horror movies I've seen, usually there's a pretty darn good reason _why_ certain rooms are kept secret. The end result is usually the girl throwing up and hiding in a corner when they find out. "It's woman's curiosity!" She made it try to sound playful, but she just ended up sounding like fermenting sugar.

"I don't like curious women," he growled, "and you had better remember the story of Blue Beard and be careful. Come, give me back my bag! …..Give me back my bag! …Leave the key alone, will you, you inquisitive little thing?" he hissed. I could almost picture him grabbing the bag in one hand and her arm in the other, his tight grip bruising the arm of the delicate, scared little dancer twit. It was accompanied by a cry of pain from the twit and an evil chuckle from Erik. The fop must have heard it and made a noise inside the chamber, even though I didn't hear anything, for Erik continued smugly, "Why, what's that? Did you hear, Christine?"

"No, no," she answered in a scared stutter. "I heard nothing."

"I thought I heard a cry."

"A cry! Are you going mad, Erik? Whom do you expect to give a cry, in this house?" She paused, thinking. "I cried out, because you hurt me! I heard nothing."

"I don't like the way you said that! …You're trembling…You're quite excited… You're lying! That was a cry—there was a cry! There is someone in the torture chamber! Ah, I understand now!"

"There is no one there, Erik!"

"I understand!"

"No one!"

_Whatever god or Muse is looking over me, please don't let Erik try to open the chamber door…_

"The man you want to marry, perhaps!"

"I don't want to marry anybody. You know I don't."

Erik gave an evil little chuckle. The kind that makes your skin crawl and the hair on your neck stand on end. "Well, it won't take long to find out. Christine, my love," I so wanted to strangle her… "we need not open the door to see what is happening in the torture chamber." I breathed a small sigh of relief, wiping the sweat off my hand that was holding the torture chamber door key onto my skirt. Crisis averted—for now. "Would you like to see? Would you like to see? Look here! If there is someone, if there is really someone there, you will see the invisible window light up at the top, near the ceiling. We need only to draw the black curtain and put out the light in here. There, that's it. Let's put out the light! You're not afraid of the dark, when you're with your little husband!"

"No!" Christine fairly screamed in terror. "I'm frightened! I tell you, I'm afraid of the dark! I don't care about that room now! You're always frightening me, like a child, with your torture chamber! …And so I became inquisitive….But I don't care about it now! Not a bit…not a bit…" She was almost sobbing by the end.

A light hum started, which I could only take to mean the torture chamber was up and running. It was a sickening thought, but I really don't like Raoul, either…

"I told you there was someone!" Erik roared. "Do you see the window now? The lighted window, right up there? The man behind the wall can't see it! But you shall go up the folding steps: that is what they are there for! You have often asked me to tell you; and now you know! They are there to give a peep into the torture chamber….you inquisitive little thing!" Oh, yes, this marriage was off to a spankingly good start…

"What tortures? Who is being tortured? Erik, Erik, say you are only trying to frighten me! Say it, if you love me, Erik! There are no tortures, are there?"

"Go and look at the little window, dear!" A pause. "Go and peep through the little window! Tell me what he looks like!" Another pause and the sound of metal scraping against stone. "Up with you! …..No!" He seemed to have changed his mind. "No, I will go up myself, dear!"

Ah, reverse psychology! "Oh, very well, I will go up. Let me go!" If Erik's anything, it's not stupid.

"Oh, my darling, my darling! How sweet of you! How nice of you to save me the exertion at my age." Now I wanted to hit him, too. "Tell me what he looks like!"

She was more muffled now, but I could still barely hear her. "There is no one there, dear!"

"No one? ….Are you sure there is no one?" He sounded a little confused, but I think he guessed at her game.

There was something muffled, and then "No one!"

"Well, that's all right! …What's the matter, Christine? You're not going to faint, are you? As there is no one there? Here. Come down. There! Pull yourself together, as there is no one there! But, how do you like the landscape?"

"Oh, very much!"

"There, that's better! You're better now, are you not? ….That's all right, you're better! No excitement! And what a funny house, isn't it, with landscapes like that in it?"

"Yes, it's like the Musee Grevin. …But, I say, Erik, there are no tortures in there! What a fright you gave me!"

"Why? As there is no one there?"

"Did you design that room?" she asked, quickly changing the subject. "It's very handsome. You're a great artist, Erik."

"Yes, a great artist, in my own line."

"But tell me, Erik, why did you call that room the torture chamber?" Stupid girl. It would have turned out so much better if you had changed the subject completely. Well, perhaps she would have found out for herself that the key didn't work…

"Oh, it's very simple. First of all, what did you see?"

"I saw a forest."

"And what is in a forest?"

"Trees."

"And what is in a tree?"

"Birds." Thank you, Polly Pocket. I really wanted to draw a big circle on the library wall and write 'Hit head here.' It would have been less painful than listening to this dunce of a Swede reason out a Hall of Mirrors.

"Did you see any birds?"

"No, I did not see any birds." Clue two the room is a fake. Clue one was the forest underneath the Opera House.

"Well, what did you see? Think! You saw branches! And what are the branches?" I think he was starting to get impatient with her, too. He really should have tried finding someone with a brain instead of a mentally challenged girl… "_"There's a gibbet!_ That is why I call my wood the torture chamber! You see, it is all a joke. I never express myself like other people." Actually, it sounds like something I'd do when I get bored… …Now I want a Hall of Mirrors….but as a maze with no exits. Sounds like hours of fun. Better than TV! "But I am tired of it! I'm sick and tired of having a forest and a torture chamber in my house and of living like a mountebank, in a house with a false bottom! I'm tired of it! I want to have a nice, quiet flat, with ordinary doors and windows and a wife inside it, like anybody else! A wife whom I could love and take out on Sundays and keep amused on weekdays…. Here, shall I show you some card tricks? That will help us to pass a few minutes, while waiting for eleven o'clock tomorrow evening. …..My dear little Christine! Are you listening to me? …..Tell me you love me!...No, you don't love me…" Thank you! I've only been telling you that for months! "But no matter, you will!" _'Hit head here.'_ "Once, you could not look at my mask because you knew what was behind…And now you don't mind looking at it and you forget what is behind!" Yes, that is called de-sensitization, Erik. It's the same way I learned to watch _See No Evil_, and how I can not only watch people get decapitated, but cheer when they get dismembered from a car going a hundred and twenty miles down the road. You watch enough of it, and you get desensitized. "One can get used to everything…if one wishes… Plenty of young people who did not care for each other before marriage have adored each other since!" All I could think of was the song _Do You Love Me?_ From _Fiddler on the Roof_. "Oh, I don't know what I am talking about! But you would have lots of fun with me. For instance, I am the greatest ventriloquist that ever lived, I am the first ventriloquist in the world! …..You're laughing…..Perhaps you don't believe me? Listen."

At this point, Erik tried to amuse the nitwit with his ventriloquism. I think it would have work, if her little brain could handle more than one thing at a time. But, alas! As he tried throwing his voice this way and that, about the room, out of my hearing, and into the hallway, all Christine could do was think about Raoul and the Persian. Well, probably just Raoul. I don't mean to be cruel to the Persian, but her little mind probably only thought of her fop. She kept begging Erik to put the light out in the torture chamber. I can only imagine that in her mind, once the light was off, all tortures would cease, and her Raoul would be safe. Ha! As long as you are within Erik's reach, you aren't really safe. Finally, Christine couldn't take it anymore and almost had to yell to get Erik to stop with the voices.

"Erik! Erik! You tire me with your voice…Don't go on, Erik! Isn't it very hot in here?"

"Oh, yes. The heat is unendurable!"

"But what does this mean? …The wall is really getting quite hot! …The wall is burning!"

"I'll tell you, Christine, dear: it is because of the forest next door."

"Well, what has that to do with it? The forest?"

"Why, didn't you see that it was an African forest?"

And Erik laughed long and hard, almost covering up Christine's pleas for him to turn it off once more. It was an evil laugh, one that sent chills down even my spine. I heard the door slam, and when I peeked out of the library, Erik was still chuckling, and dragging a fainted Christine out to the couch to take care of her.

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**Shame-ed begging:** Once again we have reached the end of a chapter, and we are one step closer to the end of this story. If you could find it in your hearts, please leave a little review for this poor writer. I know I can't take much credit for this chapter, but such things must be muddled through to get to the rest of the work. So, until next time-


	33. Chapter 33

I almost felt sorry for the teenager—almost. It's hard to feel sorry for a stereotype you really hate. However, I'm not totally heartless. Erik had pretty much lost it, in my book, and someone had to make sure the girl actually did walk away from this horrific event. I slipped out of the library and over to Erik's side as he laid the girl on the couch.

"I thought I told you to stay out of the way," he growled, glaring at me.

"You realize you probably gave her heat stroke in that room, don't you?"

"It was not nearly hot enough for heat stroke."

"Not for any normal, intelligent person, but she's neither. Jeez, for a genius, you're pretty stupid." I started unlacing the girl's dress and corset. "These damn things are always laced way too tight for us to be able to breathe properly, they're hot and heavy, and I'm willing to bet she hasn't eaten or drunk anything in many hours. And then she was standing right next to the wall, from what I heard. You probably gave her heat stroke." I got up and headed for the kitchen, stopped, and turned back to him. "No, I changed my mind. You're quite intelligent. One of the most intelligent I've ever met. Your wisdom just sucks." I headed into the kitchen and got a bowl of cold water and a couple towels before going back.

'What did you mean by that?"

"Intelligence and wisdom are two completely different things. Intelligence is knowing everything about the dragon. Wisdom is knowing when to leave it the hell alone." Dipping the towels in the cold water, I started applying them to the overheated girl, trying to cool her off.

"What are you talking about? Dragons…"

I sighed. "Intelligence is knowing everything about Erik. Wisdom is knowing how far you can push him before he snaps your neck, and then stopping before that. Better?"

Erik just snorted and moved off.

"Now where are you going?"

He just grinned at first. I couldn't see it through his silk mask, but his eyes shone with a dangerous twinkle. "…Erik's going to go take a look at the little birds that got caught in Erik's cage."

I sighed. "You say you're tired of having the torture chamber in your house, but you're having too much fun torturing them for you to be really ready to give it up…" That made him stop.

"What do you know about being tired of torture chambers? What could you possibly know?"

I gave a small, evil chuckle, not looking up at him. "A lot, actually. I'm a writer, and that means I talk to the Muses. One Muse in particular took a shine to me. The Muse of Pain and Lust. He perfected the torture chamber, Erik, and shares his designs with humans he deems worthy of carrying out immense measures of pain to its victims… Medieval torture techniques were developed only about a century after he became Pain, I believe, or, somewhere around that time. I have a feeling he's slowing down about now…but he's not really going to get tired of it for another century or so. The thrill of causing immense pain wears real thin after a while. Like you claim you want, he wants a normal life, loving someone, taking care of them, and not scaring or hurting them." I set the bowl off to the side and sat down in a chair. Erik just stared.

"…And?"

"And what?"

"Did he ever get it? A normal life?"

"I'm sorry, I can't say."

He growled. "Why not?"

"Because his bosses get really p-o-ed if I tell too many details about their Muses futures. Especially Urania. And because Jesse's leaning against the wall over there, listening in."

Erik immediately looked over to where I had indicated, but as I had suspected, he didn't see the Muse of Pain and Lust. Rarely does anyone but me see him when I'm around.

"Erik sees no one."

"I didn't expect you to." I glanced over at Jesse, who rolled his blue eyes and disappeared, and then back to Erik. "Jesse's picky about whom he shows himself to. Mostly only writers see Muses to begin with. Even I only see him sometimes, and he likes me. You can call me crazy if you want, but people would call me crazy if I said I talked with a ghost, too." Erik gave a small snort and continued on his way to the torture chamber again. "Raoul and the Persian are both in there," I said. "You have Raoul to thank for distracting your friend enough to not be able to find the door out."

Erik paused, but continued into Christine's room. I tended to Christine as best I could, but I had never had to deal with heat stroke before. I knew the basics, though. Make sure she can breathe freely, cool her off—ice, cold water, anything—and give her small sips of cool water—not too much at once, or she'd get sick—not something I wanted to deal with. It had to have been ten or fifteen minutes before she came back around, and I was still at her side. Erik had not come back yet.

"Lie still," I said, putting another set of cold cloths on her forehead and chest. "You shouldn't be moving just yet."

She looked confused as her eyes wandered. "Where…?" It took her a moment, but she suddenly sat bolt upright, recognition spreading across her face. "Erik!"

"I said lie still," I repeated firmly, pushing her back down by the shoulders and replacing the cloths. "Heat stroke is not something you recover miraculously from."

"Who are you?" Christine asked, seeing me for the first time. Her blue eyes were wide and frightened, and she looked like nothing more than a scared child. That's all she was, really. She had been too sheltered, and didn't know the first thing about the real world and the hardships of it. "Is Erik keeping you here, too? Oh! We must get out! He mustn't know where we go! Oh! Raoul! Raoul is here! Erik has Raoul in a torture chamber! We must get him out!"

"Calm yourself, girl," I said slowly, keeping one hand on her shoulder. "The only things you have to do is rest for now and think things through logically. No, Erik is not keeping me here. I came here on my own. I know Erik has a temper. And yes, Raoul is here. I know where, too, but Erik is watching him right now. We can't get him out while Erik is watching him. I need you to stop panicking and think. You need to decide what to do."

She started to wail and whimper, lamenting about her prediction and Raoul's and how Raoul was going to die, she just knew it. Erik was going to kill him. It was like nails on a chalkboard, or worse. Like sandpaper on raw and bleeding skin. It was just grating on my nerves, and I finally did something I don't think I've ever done before—at least, not in the past few years that I remember. I slapped the bitch.

"Shut your god-damn whining, and listen," I said firmly, a slight snarl on my face. "Erik gave you a choice, and you have to make it. We all know you love Raoul, but the problem is is that Erik is obsessed with you and the idea that you alone can save him from the world he's isolated himself in. Now, you can stay by Raoul's side for the rest of eternity, after Erik's blown up the entire opera house, or you can marry Erik, Raoul gets released, and everybody lives. It's up to you. That's the plain and simple truth."

Christine sat, dumbfounded and holding her reddened cheek, staring at me. After a few moments, she seemed to come around, for she started blinking again, and she slowly looked away. "That's the truth," I repeated, gathering up the bowl of water and the cloths. "What happens now is up to you." Christine stayed where she was as I went back into the kitchen, and she stayed where she was as I came back out and went to the library. I had no idea how long it would be before Erik came back. The book had been vague over the amount of time it had been that Raoul and the Persian had spent in the torture chamber. But if I was to die, I was going to die reading a book.

I was probably a third of the way through a nice long book before I heard Erik's voice again. He was ranting and raving at Christine. I couldn't make out the words, but his voice was clear enough. I made it through another third of the book before things finally calmed down. It's a wonder Erik's voice lasted that long, really. After a few minutes of eerie quiet, my curiosity got the better of me, and I set my book down to investigate. The door to the Louise-Philippe room was wide open, and I could hear Christine's voice inside. She was relating the tale of what had just transpired between her and Erik the past few hours.

"'Here,' he said, taking a key from the little bag of life and death," she repeated to the wall, the wall that separated her from her love. I slipped into the room and into a chair. She seemed to start, but she relaxed when she saw it was only me. "'Here is the little bronze key that opens the two ebony caskets on the mantelpiece in the Louis-Philippe room. In one of the caskets, you will find a scorpion, in the other, a grasshopper, both cleverly imitated in Japanese bronze.'" I always did like Japanese artwork. Amazingly beautiful. Sorry. Random thought. "'They will say yes or no for you. If you turn the scorpion round, that will mean to me, when I return, that you have said yes. The grasshopper will mean no.' And he laughed like a drunken demon!" she practically cried. Her face was already stained with tears. "I did nothing but beg and entreat him to give me the key of the torture-chamber, promising to be his wife if he granted me that request…. But he told me that there was no future need for that key and that he was going to throw it into the lake!" I had to still my hand to keep from checking to make sure the real key was still in my pocket. "And he laughed again like a drunken demon and left me! Oh, his last words where, 'The grasshopper! Be careful of the grasshopper! A grasshopper does not only turn: it hops! It hops! And it hops jolly high!"

Now, this worried me. Sure, Erik had given her a direct answer at the beginning, but then he had given her a riddle when he mentioned the grasshopper specifically at the end. Christine's not exactly bright. The wheel is turning, but someone forgot to provide the hamster. And Raoul now providing his side of the story through the wall to Christine was only going to confuse her more. I dropped my head into my hand with a soft groan. I really should have just brought her into this room when she first woke up and explained things to her in small sentences._ 'The scorpion, my dear, will mean you agree to marry Erik. Marry Erik, and no one dies. The grasshopper will blow the whole opera house to bits, and everyone dies. Now, scorpion is life, grasshopper is death. Which one do you choose?'_ Would have solved everything. But, no. I had to go read a book. And Raoul just kept going on…

"Turn the scorpion!" he finally called through the wall. "Turn it now!"

There was silence for a few moments as Christine made her way to the caskets, pale as death and shaking.

"Christine!" the Persian suddenly cried. "Where are you?"

"By the scorpion." She was confused, and so was I. Perhaps the Persian was still thinking. Overanalyzing, perhaps, like I sometimes do with puzzles. It's best not to overthink anything. Go with the first answer you come up with. It's usually right.

"Don't touch it! Don't touch the scorpion!"

"Here he comes!" she panicked. Footsteps were coming closer to the room. "I hear him! Here he is!"

Erik came in, not wearing his mask this time, and walked over to Christine. He was going to say something, but stopped when he saw me. He glared, but I gave him an indifferent nod in greeting. I figured, what the hell. If I was going to die, I was going to be present at the source. The Persian was the first to speak again.

"Erik! It is I! Do you know me?"

"So you are not dead in there?" Erik said with practiced calmness. "Well, then, see that you keep quiet." The Persian started to say something, but Erik interrupted him. "Not a word, daroga, or I shall blow everything up." He gave a mock bow to Christine. "The honor rests with mademoiselle. Mademoiselle has not touched the scorpion." His eyes traveled over the bronze figures, and his face was totally blank, not showing a hint of emotion, not even in his eyes. "Mademoiselle has not touched the grasshopper…but it is not too late to do the right thing. There, I open the caskets without a key, for I am a trap-door lover and I open and shut what I please and as I please. I open the little ebony caskets; mademoiselle, look at the little dears inside." He ushered Christine forward to see, to get her closer and ready to choose. "Aren't they pretty? If you turn the grasshopper, mademoiselle, we shall all be blown up. There is enough gunpowder under our feet to blow up a whole quarter of Paris. If you turn the scorpion, mademoiselle, all that powder will be soaked and drowned. Mademoiselle, to celebrate our wedding, you shall make a very handsome present to a few hundred Parisians who are at this moment applauding a poor masterpiece of Meyerbeer's." I noticed Erik was carefully avoiding eye contact with me. "You shall make them a present of their lives. For, with your own fair hands, you shall turn the scorpion. And merrily, merrily, we will be married!" He gave his first grin, but in another moment, it was gone again, and a snarl replaced it. "If, in two minutes, mademoiselle, you have not turned the scorpion, I shall turn the grasshopper. And the grasshopper, I tell you, hops jolly high!"

Christine didn't move. Her face got paler, if that was possible, and she stared at the figurines. I saw her hands twitch, and I watched her, my own fingertips touching in a teepee as my elbows rested on the arms of the chair. Time seemed to pass at a crawl.

"The two minutes are past," Erik said finally. He turned and gave me a bow, a wicked grin on his face. "Goodbye, mademoiselle…" He reached for the grasshopper. "Hop, grasshopper!"

"Erik!" Christine finally cried, her voice stilling Erik's hand. "Do you swear to me, monster, do you swear to me that the scorpion is the one to turn?"

"Yes, to hop at our wedding."

"Ah, you see! You said, to hop!" I rolled my eyes. The girl was getting delusional. Why did Erik have to confuse her like that? She was finally getting it!

"At our wedding, ingenious child!...The scorpion opens the ball…But that will do!...You won't have the scorpion? Then I will turn the grasshopper!"

"Erik!" she cried, and the Persian's joined her, but Erik yelled out "Enough!"

Christine's hand shot out and spun one of them around herself.

"Erik! I have turned the scorpion!"

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. It felt like my heart was way down in my gut, and it hurt. God, I hope I never get that close to death again. Or, at least, I hope it's me making the decision, and not some easily confused twit.

After a few seconds, there was the sound of water rushing through pipes and filling a huge container below us. Erik paid it no mind and grinned a hideous grin as he wrapped an arm around Christine and led her from the room. I waited to see if he would come back, but he didn't. The Persian was calling from the other room that the water was up to their knees, and I got up to turn off the water myself. I turned the scorpion back, but nothing happened. I turned it again and again, but the water kept flowing. I reached into my pocket for the key, but stopped. The water would flood the house if I just opened the door. I had to turn off the water, but I had no idea how.

* * *

**A/N and Shame-ed Begging:**_ Hey, all. I know it's been a long time. No, I haven't given up on the story. I've been going through some major depressive episodes and have trouble dealing with life and homework and work all at the same time. I spent some time in the hospital, got myself some anti-depressants, and got some much needed rest. I'm back at it now, and I hope to have the rest of the story written soon! Thanks for hanging in there! Let me know you're still reading by clicking the pretty button for me and leaving me a review? Please? :( It would make me so happy! :) I have plans to make Jessica's story into a trilogy, and with luck and a lot more writing, she'll do more traveling!_


	34. Chapter 34

_**A/N: Welcome back! I know I've been gone for a long time. I'm not dead. Yet. I just moved in to my first apartment, and I thought I'd celebrate by posting a new chapter. **(finally...)** Anyway, here's the new chapter. I've got the rest finished, so I'll **(hopefully)** be posting another chapter on Wednesday, and then the last two chapters next week. And then voila! the last of the story. If any one is interested, I'm also working on two continuations to this story. And yes, I can hear the groans and the calls for me to finish this story before I work on the third story in this trilogy. It all needs work yet, anyways. Enjoy your new chapter!**_

* * *

I rushed out of the room in almost a panic. Things were out of my control again, and that always makes me very, very nervous. I felt I would be responsible for their deaths if I couldn't get Erik to shut off the water. I would have failed in my task, and I couldn't deal with that.

"Erik! Erik, shut off the water!" I pleaded, clinging to his arm. "Shut off the water! You don't need anymore!"

The blond twit turned to stare at me. "The water's still rising?"

"That's what I said," I repeated, exasperated at having to keep her in the loop. "The water's still pouring in, and it's flooding the torture chamber."

"Erik doesn't need them around anymore," he said smugly. "They are trespassers and should not have been here in the first place."

"No, you don't need them," I agreed, "but you said you wanted to be done with this kind of life. Why not start with them? Why not spare their lives as a first step towards the life you want?"

"Yes, Erik," Christine pleaded, clinging to his other arm. "Please, turn off the water! I already agreed to be your wife! What more do you want from me? I'll do anything you ask, just please turn off the water!"

"They should not have been here," he repeated firmly, then turned to Christine. "You, Christine, by turning the scorpion, agreed to become engaged to me, and you truly do not need to have two men engaged to you. Therefore, the former one drowns, washed away from our lives, so we may start anew."

I almost gagged at this point, for the little princess began to cry. Tears ran down from clear blue eyes, and it was like having a Mary Sue in front of me, for instantly Erik tried to soothe her, holding her close. "Please Erik. I swear I'll marry you. I'll be your bride, and yours alone. Just please turn off the water and let him live…"

Erik watched her for a few seconds before answering. "You swear this? You will forsake him and be mine alone?"

"I do. Please, Erik, just turn off the water and let him go…"

Erik nodded his agreement and hurried back into the Louise-Philippe room. In a matter of seconds, we could hear the water rushing back out of the house and to the lake. When he came back out, he was muttering about needing to retrieve the key from the bottom of the lake now.

"Erik…" I said nervously, stopping him. "You don't need to." I took the real key from my pocket and retreated to the wood-paneled room again, opening the door myself. Inside lay the old Persian and the young Parisian. Erik had followed me back in, and he stared at me in amazement.

"Where did you get the key?"

"I took it from your bag before Christine had a chance to grab it."

"But it was still in the bag!"

"That was my hotel room key," I said with a small smile, heading over to the Persian. "My tricks may not be as good as yours, but they're good enough when people are unobservant about little details."

Erik gave a small, grudging laugh as he picked up de Chagny and carried him out of the chamber. "I suppose so. Then it was my fault for not paying close attention when I took the bag back." I merely smiled and started to drag the older man out by his shoulders. Erik set the young man down on the sofa and came back to relieve me of the Persian. "You are a crafty little girl, Jessica.

"Young woman," I corrected. "I'm in my early twenties. That makes me a woman. And I have my father to thank for that. He had a mind for attention to details, loopholes, and finding opportunities to exploit like that."

"He does sound like an interesting man."

"He is…" I nodded, watching Christine as Erik laid the Persian on the bed. Christine was tending to Raoul as best she could, but she had no idea what to do. I took pity on her and went over to the sofa. "Help me hold him," I said, shifting the young man to his side so I could sit down and be able to get behind him. Christine helped balance him on his side, and I began cupping his back with my hand, pounding it to get the water out of his lungs again. After a minute or two, Raoul coughed up the water, and I got off the sofa, laying him back down. I left Christine to tend to him while I went to do the same to the Persian. Erik just watched me.

"You will take them back up to the surface, Erik?" Christine asked quietly, as if afraid of the answer. I looked up at him, and he looked as though about to change his mind, until he looked at me.

"Yes," he said simply. "I will make sure they are both taken back up to the surface when they are well enough to travel." I nodded my approval and then went out of the room to get a few supplies to help the men. The Persian was not doing so well. Much worse than Raoul. Erik followed me out.

"He might not make it, Erik," I said quietly, pausing to lean against the wall.

"The boy will live," Erik said confidently.

"Not him." My voice sounded much more confident in my ears than I felt. "The Persian. I'm not sure I can help him. He might die."

"What do you mean might?" I could hear the question in his voice. I was supposed to know the answer. I was supposed to know. "Your stories, your knowledge. You know how this turns out."

"I know how it's supposed to turn out. But this part of the story was always the haziest. I don't know how they survive, how badly they're hurt, or anything like that. More or less, this is where things fade in to legend."

Erik went silent, and he turned and walked away. I sighed, going in to the kitchen for some fresh supplies before returning to the Louise-Philippe room. There, I went back to tending to the men, and hoping I was doing the right thing. It had been a long time since my first aid classes. Christine was absolutely useless, though. As I tended to Raoul, she was constantly in the way. Standing in the way, sticking her hands and fingers where I needed to be. I practically banished her from the room just so I could work without tripping over her, like a cat. Raoul was the first to waken. He groaned and almost shifted off the sofa. I had to steady him and try to keep him calm. He was confused, but weak as well. It made it easy for me to restrain him on the sofa. I gave him some water to drink, reassured him that everyone was safe, and he fell back asleep.

The Persian, on the other hand, took much longer to regain consciousness, even though I did my best to tend to him. When he did waken, Erik was in the room as well. The Persian looked around in confusion, and I took the opportunity to fetch some cordial for him. I had mostly brought it in for myself, but I figured the old man could use some as well. Erik spoke quietly to him, too quietly for me to hear any more than just the sound of his voice. He fell silent as I brought the cordial took the cup from me. I saw him add a bit of something from his own bottle before handing it to the Persian, and as I retreated to my chair to keep watch, Erik resumed whispering. I had retrieved my book from the library, and I quietly sat reading it now. There was no point in trying to overhear Erik. He didn't seem to want me to hear. I only glanced up as I heard him leave the room, and after a moment, I heard the Persian call out softly.

"Christine…Christine…"

He tried saying something else, but he fell back on the bed, exhausted. It was then that I looked up. The Persian gave me a tired glance, and I went to his side. I could feel his fever as I placed my hand on his forehead, and I left to speak with Erik.

"You need to take them out," I said, quietly so as not to cause Christine to go in to hysterics. "The Persian is sick. He has a fever. I don't have the skill or the medicine to help him. He _needs_ to go to the surface."

"I'll take a look at him and decide if he needs to go now or not." Erik was almost curt with me as he brushed me aside. I pursed my lips and returned to the room and my book. Erik returned to the Persian's side in another moment, and I saw him bend over the man and whisper something again before leaving once more. The Persian called for Christine again, and I chalked it up to hallucinations from the fever. Erik returned once more, mixed some kind of drink for the Persian, and I heard him tell the old man not to try to speak with his wife or anyone else, because it might be dangerous to everyone's health. I glanced up in annoyance at Erik, but he was already leaving the room again. The Persian fell back asleep soon after.

I watched over them until Erik returned again, and he bid me help him move the men to the boat. We were taking them out of here.

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**Shame-ed begging**:_ Hey, again, guys! Got any words of wisdom for me? Encouragement? Anything you hate? Please review! Please!_


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: I know it's been a little over a week since I last posted, so it means I'm overdue for another installment. Here it is.**

* * *

I struggled to carry Raoul to the boat as Erik seemed to have almost no problem with the Persian. It's easy to forget that Erik is over fifty when he displays that kind of strength.

"No," Erik said once I had helped Raoul in to the boat.

"What do you mean no?" I asked in surprise. "You need someone to help you move them once you get to the other side. It's stupid to go only to come back for the other one. Unless….You only plan on taking one of them away…"

"You are a smart girl, aren't you," he said with a small smirk as he pushed off in the boat.

"Dammit! Erik!" I yelled, coming to a sudden stop at the end of the shore. "Get your ass back here! I am not done fucking swearing at you, bastard!" It didn't matter. Erik wasn't about to have any kind of conversation with me. He was gone, and he had left me at the house with Christine. I stormed back and slammed the door behind me. I knew what Erik was planning. Only the Persian was leaving. Raoul was staying some where in the Opera house, and he didn't want either Christine or I to know where. Christine started when I slammed the door to the house, and she appeared in the doorway to the entryway as a timid mouse, afraid it was Erik, yet ready to please him. I didn't notice her at first, I was so furious at Erik. I let out a furious scream and chucked a vase across the room. Christine let out a frightened yell and shrunk back. I turned my furious gaze to her. I yelled some more obscene things at her that I'm not going to repeat here and chucked something else that was on an endtable at her, and she disappeared back into the house. I didn't see her again. I think she was more afraid of me at that point than she was of Erik. I didn't mind. It meant I didn't have to deal with her at all. I stayed in the library, buried in a book, until Erik returned.

"You are a fucking moron," I huffed, snapping my book shut when Erik finally returned.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he said coolly.

"Sweetie," I said in disbelief, raising an eyebrow, "have you thought about this—I mean _actually_ thought about this?" I called him 'sweetie' unconsciously. I didn't use to call people 'sweetie'—not until college. My friends' habits rubbed off on me.

"Of course. Thoroughly."

"No, I mean _seriously_ thought about this? You lock Raoul up for the rest of his miserable life instead of letting him go, and Christine finds out. What do you suppose happens?"

"Christine will never find out what really happened to him, and he will never trouble us again."

"Let's find out." I gave an angry, mocking smile and stood. "Christine!"

"You wouldn't dare." Erik's eyes narrowed behind his mask, and his voice became dangerous.

"Watch me. Christine!"

Erik was suddenly in front of me, his boney hand wrapped around my throat. "Hold your tongue, girl…" he growled.

"Or what? You'll kill me, too? I thought you were done killing. Or will it just be one more time? Will it always be one more time. Just once more. This once won't hurt. She won't know this once. Just once more, and everything will be fine after this. Where do you draw the line, Erik? When is once more once too many? When does it start becoming wrong? You'll stop tomorrow, right? Well guess what. Tomorrow never comes," I spat. "You say tomorrow, but once tomorrow gets here, it's today, and tomorrow is still a day away. You want to make a change, do it today! Now! No more putting it off, Erik."

Erik growled at me, but I held my ground, glaring at him. What did I really have to lose, after all? And he retreated a few steps before he turned and stalked off.

I can honestly say I don't know what happened next. I stayed in the library and let Erik have some time with his new wife. It wasn't until I heard a third voice that I ventured out of the library. As I turned a corner in the hallway, I stopped. Raoul was hugging Christine tightly to his chest, and Erik was just disappearing out of the room.

"Come," I said, gently, as I walked towards the couple. "I will take you to the boat, and you may leave."

They started at the sound of my voice, pulling apart slightly, but followed me to the shore and the boat. Raoul seemed surprised when I didn't get in to the boat as well.

"The monster has no control over you," he said, pleading for me to get in with them. "You need not stay here any longer, a slave to the monster's whim, a prisoner."

"He is not a monster," I said calmly, almost sadly, "and I am not a prisoner. I stay because he is my friend. Please, go. The gate to the road is unlocked. Go, and forget this place even exists."

I don't remember if he called after me or not. I'm almost positive Christine didn't. I just know I walked back to the house. Once inside, I followed the sound of sobbing to Erik's room. I found him there, curled in a corner, crying so violently and with such emotion that I felt my heart shatter and the pieces jammed in my throat. Normally, I show very little empathy towards anyone, but with Erik-oh! with Erik, I wanted to cry with him-hold him and cry. Yes, he needed me. But he needed me sane, not hysterical, and so I had to get a hold of myself. I breathed deeply, willing myself to calm down, and I walked over to him.

"Erik," I said, warning him of my presence. His body twitched in a spasm. I sat down beside him, my back against the wall. "Erik." My voice was gentle, full of care and worry. "I'm still here, Erik. I'm not going to leave you." He looked up, and as our eyes met, all I saw was a friend whose heart had been stepped on and crushed by someone who could never love him back. I reached out, putting my hand on his shoulder. "I'm still here." He let out a long, death-like moan and collapsed onto me. He buried his face in my chest, his already tear-stained face and the new rivers of tears thoroughly soaking my blouse. I gently wrapped my arms around his violently shaking skeletal frame and gently stroked his head. "I know it hurts. I know. Go ahead and cry. Let it all out. I'm still here. I know it hurts bad. Go ahead and cry. I'm gonna stay right here. I'm not going to leave you."

* * *

"_Down a cold and darkened hallway, a doctor stood alone_

_with a young and frightened father, who knew something was wrong._

_He said, "Son, this isn't easy, but we really need to talk."_

_So he took the young man's arm, and they began to walk._

_He said, "Your wife is finally sleeping._

_She just needs to be alone right now._

_And the baby, well, she's healthy,_

_but there's something you should know._

_Son, she's slightly less than perfect._

_There was nothing we could do._

_So before you go to see her,_

_I thought I'd talk to you."_

"_As the young man held the warm and sleeping bundle to his chest,_

_he saw the imperfections, and though he tried his best,_

_he couldn't stop the tears from falling as he held his little girl._

_In a warm and trembling voice, he softly said these words—_

"_You're beautiful in every way._

_So beautiful. How I've waited for this day._

_If the world was offered to me,_

_I just couldn't make the trade._

'_Cause you're beautiful."_

"_It's amazing how some things matter,_

_And some things don't_

_When seen through the eyes_….of love."

* * *

"How are you doing, Erik?" I asked, squatting beside his bench. He looked at me with those same sad eyes that he's had for the past three weeks, but then went back to his music, his slender fingers beginning to caress the keys again. I put my hands on top of his, stilling them. He flinched. "Just stop for a little while. You need to take a break. Let me make you something to eat." I brushed the back of my fingertips against the hollow of his cheek. "Please."

A tremor coursed through his body. "Why are you so good to me?"

"Someone has to," I said as he got up and stumbled to the door.

"Doesn't matter," he wheezed. "I don't want anything."

"Erik!" He is an exasperating man, and I ran to him and grabbed his arm—partly to keep him from leaving and partly to support him while he stood, grasping the doorframe. "Erik, please don't do this."

"Get off of me!" He pushed me back with more strength and force than I thought he had left in his now ghastly skeletal body. I stumbled back into the room, tripped on the hem of my skirt, and fell on my ass. "I don't want your pity!" I could feel his eyes burning through me, but when I looked up, he was gone.

"Erik!" I scrambled to my feet, stepping on the back of my skirt with every step. (I had to fix it as soon as I was actually standing. It's the only thing I don't like about long skirts.) I made it to the door finally and I found him sitting on the couch, out of breath. "Erik." I sat on my feet sideways on the couch, facing him, one arm on the back of the couch, the other on my lap. "If you don't want it, then I won't give it. I'm not good at it anyways. But I'm worried about you. I don't want to see you die."

"Then leave," he said gruffly.

"Damn it. That's not what I mean. I don't want you to die." I started to hyperventilate as I spoke, trying to get my emotions back under control. I had to blink rapidly so my eyes wouldn't mist over and the tears wouldn't escape. I had been dreading this since Erik had brought Christine down here. I knew this was going to happen. I knew she was going to leave him, and he was determined to die of heartbreak. And I couldn't do anything to change it. I wanted to. God! I wanted to. But I couldn't. I couldn't…

I was tired of being the one in control. I didn't want to be in control anymore. I wanted to cry. I wanted to collapse into Erik and cry—like he had done to me three weeks ago. But I couldn't.

"Why?" He turned sharply towards me. "Because you _need_ me alive? Because you can't figure out how to get home? You need me to feed and clothe y—"

I couldn't stand it any more. I shut up his sarcastic ramblings by encasing his lips with my own. I hadn't been able to kiss him before without guilt—not with Christine around. I'm sure most, if not all, you girls know what I'm talking about. The guy you have a crush on has a girlfriend, and if you try to break up their relationship, you'll never get your crush. Sure there was that one kiss that one night, but that was in the heat of the moment and things were extremely awkward the next day. But now I could kiss him—and kiss him I did.

"That's why," I softly said, breaking away gently.

Erik sat there stunned. Then, without a word, he got up and went back into his room, locking his door behind him.

I sat on the couch still. I couldn't believe it. I didn't know what to have actually expected from him, but it was obviously not that. I turned and fell onto the couch. The cushion was only slightly warmer where Erik had just been sitting. I tried to think of something to do, but my mind blanked on me. Nothing seemed right. So that's what I did. I did nothing. Soon a song came into my head that seemed right—even if Erik couldn't hear it—and I started singing it.

"_You fill up my senses like a night in a forest  
Like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain  
Like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean  
You fill up my senses, come fill me again.  
_

_Come let me love you, let me give my life to you  
Let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms  
Let me lay down beside you, let me always be with you  
Come let me love you, come love me again._"

I hummed the next two and a half lines of the song, like I remembered John Denver doing on my CDs when he sang it. Just as I started singing again, I heard Erik open his door, but I couldn't see him from where I was lying.

"_...Let me give my life to you  
Come let me love you, come love me again._

You fill up my senses like a night in a forest  
Like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain  
Like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean  
You fill up my senses, come fill me again."

"Another one of your songs by John Denver?" Erik asked in a gentle voice.

I nodded. "Yep."

"You know, you're a very strange girl for eighteenth century France." I saw him in my peripheral vision sit down on the arm of the couch by my feet.

"Twenty-first century America, too," I said with a small smile.

Erik paused, trying to figure out what to say. "Why are you still here?"

I scooted back on the couch, sitting up and crossing my legs in front of me. "I don't know. I don't even know why I was dropped here in the first place, or if I _can_ get back home. Why did I _choose_ to stay?" I bit my lip, thinking. I looked at Erik in the eyes. "Because I feel like I belong here, with you. I don't _want_ to be anywhere else. If I could go home, I don't know if I'd _want_ to if I couldn't bring you with me."

Erik laughed dryly. "Can you honestly see me in your time?"

I smiled. "Yes. There are a lot of jobs in my time that you don't need to leave the house for-if you didn't want to. Besides, you'd fit in nicely with my group of friends."

"So you've told me."

"Yeah, well..."

"Why here?" He spread his arms to encompass and include his whole house. "Why would you want to be down here?"

"Because it's away from people. Because I'm not a people person. I like the dark and quiet. I want to be left alone so I can write my stories. Getting published was a dream for me so I could get enough money to move away from people and not deal with them so I could write in peace." I smiled. "Most of my stuff was never meant for publication. I just wrote it for me. Besides," my smile broadened and I started to blush, "you're down here. I really like being with you. You make me feel safe. You are kind and thoughtful-when you're not busy being a jerk. And I really like listening to your music."

Erik leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes in thought. "You really are a strange girl," he said finally. "You really wouldn't miss the surface at all?"

"The city? No. The forests? Yes. They afford their own peace and beauty. I wouldn't mind going up just to get lost in them once in a while."

Erik looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "You really are strange."

"But in a good way."

He hesitated before asking me his next question. "May I try something?"

I must admit, I was a bit confused. Why ask my permission? "Sure. What is it?"

He hesitated again. "Could you...stand up? ...Please?"

I stood up, puzzled, and Erik stood with me. He hesitated yet again, but walked over to me. He gently cupped my chin with his fingers and tilted my chin a bit higher, locking our gazes. And then he kissed me.

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**_Shame-ed Begging: _**_Thanks for reading and keeping up! I've got two more installments, a last word and a section that the foreword is signed by Erik himself. Please, keep reading and giving me reviews! Reviews are much appreciated and loved!_


	36. Chapter 36

I could keep writing this. I could turn this into one of those cheezy romance novels where the guy I like falls head-over-heels for me, turning me into a Mary-Sue. But I hate those stories. So I won't write it. That's a good thing, because this isn't one of those stories. As much as this would have pained me to say this ten years ago when I first arrived in Paris, I have to say this. I'm so sorry you have to know this now, before you become me, Jessica, but I have to be honest with you because you are me. Erik and I are not married. We are not madly in love. We are not sleeping together. Ten years ago, I would have seen my arrival into Erik's life as a God-send. I finally got to meet one of the men I had read and fantasized about. This was my destiny-to be with Erik. It's not the case at all. I stayed with Erik for another year or so. After that, we decided that we weren't meant to be lovers. We didn't let our decision ruin what we had, though, as it could have and has been known to happen.

You know what? That sounded incredibly cheezy in and of itself. 'We didn't let our decision ruin what we had.' So cheezy. I couldn't think of something better? Man, I guess not. Well, back to the wrap-up. Erik actually bought me a place for myself outside of Paris, in the woods. The grounds are absolutely gorgeous and quiet. Erik and I actually still spend a lot of time in each other's company. Sometimes I get lonely for the lakehouse, and Erik lets me come and go as I please. Erik spends a lot of time with me in the woods, too. He's given me pointers on my singing, though I still refuse singing lessons, officially. I've got a small piano in my home, so he's got something to play if he wants while he's here.

And, I suppose this is an important point, too, to include, even though I'm sure it's going to break some of you girls' hearts. Erik did get married. Several years ago, in fact. I'm not going to say exactly when or to whom, for their sake. If this is found while either of them or any of their descendants are alive, this manuscript is going to give them a lot of grief. It's the same reason I didn't include the Persian's real name. We really just want to be left alone now. I actually do some baby-sitting for them, too. They've got two kids-a girl and a boy. They're great kids, and they love the outdoors.

I'm still not sure if I'm ever going to get back home to my time. And I'm a bit home-sick. I miss everyone a lot. Rain, Katie, Kathryn, Mandy, Amanda, Angela, Heidi, Ace, Hilary, Arianna, Megan, Rei, my siblings-yes, even Joshua, my parents, my grandparents, and my cats. I miss you all, and I hope time has treated you well. I wonder what would happen if I made it back now? Would it be ten years later, or the next morning after I left? Would I have aged at all? There are so many possibilities as to what could happen. Time travel was never my thing. I always classified it under science-fiction, not fantasy.

However, I really have to cut this off. I'm supposed to be baby-sitting, actually, and the kids are demanding my attention. Thanks for reading, and maybe it will help you deal with and prepare for your arrival in the 19th century. As soon as I get the chance, I'm going to put this where it will be safe until the twenty-first century and you can read it. Though I have no clue where that will be. Maybe Erik will have some idea. Well, as Tigger always said, "TTFN! Ta ta for now!"

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_**A/N and Shame-ed Begging:** I've got one last note from Erik coming up still. So, please stay tuned! And please press the purple button and leave me a review!_


	37. Chapter 37

**_Since Jessica has written so much about me—some of which I still find rather embarrassing—I think it is only fair that I include something embarrassing about her in her manuscript. I found this event she had recorded in one of her many piles of papers. And I pity any one who has the courage to attempt to sort through her piles. To provide a time frame—this happened some time after my supposed "death," and Jessica had requested I buy her some tea—which I obliged—and will never do again._**

**_Erik_**

* * *

Erik came into my room and took a good look around. The room was a mess—mostly because of the papers all over the place. I was somewhere in the middle of the mess, still writing, my cup—or mug, ok, bottle-ish container—was near-by, still partially filled with my latest batch of tea. "What _are_ you working on?" He bent down to pick up one of the pieces of paper.

"Don't touch!" I yelled, pointing my pen at him, my eyes extremely dilated with caffeine. "I have a system and you're gonna screw it up!"

"Are you all right?"

"Course I am. I'm awake, aint I?" I went back to writing.

"How much caffeine have you had?" Aw, he was worried about me. Not that I really noticed at the time. I was too wired to notice much of anything.

"I dunno. Two or three. Gallons. Maybe. 'Nough to keep me awake."

"What? When was the last time you slept?"

"Sleep? Sel-eep? What is this sleep thing that you talk about? I do no such strange thing. I only write. Write and drink my tea. And occasionally go to the bathroom. But that is an entirely different pot of coffee and has nothing to do with the price of wine in China."

"What?"

"Sh!" I held up my hand, then went back to writing. "You're distracting me. Leave now before the wobbly train completely falls off the track and this never gets finished."

Erik merely stared, confused, and walked out of the room. I'm not even sure I know what I was talking about, but it made complete sense at the time, I'm sure.

Later—much later—I picked up my cup/mug/bottle-ish container, only to find it empty. Again. I gave an exasperated sigh, got up, picked my way through my strewn papers, and went to the kitchen. I opened up the cupboard I had stashed my tea leaves in, reached up, and found them gone. _Oh, no_, I thought, _he wouldn't._ Climbing up, I found that he had. Erik took all my tea leaves. He took all my caffeine. My mouth dropped open and I let out a terrified scream.

I was frantically tearing apart the kitchen hoping that he had hidden them somewhere in there, when Erik calmly walked in and leaned in the doorway.

"Something wrong?"

"My caffeine! Erik! My caffeine! I need my caffeine!"

"Looks to me like you've already had more than enough."

"Erik, don't do this, Erik." I paused long enough to stand in front of him, my eyes dilated, my hands as if ready to strangle something, shaking uncontrollably. "You can't just take away all the caffeine when someone is high on a buzz! Especially this high! I'm going to _die_ when I crash!"

"And you're going to die if you keep drinking so much of it."

"Die, die. Die, die. I see no difference. GIVE ME BACK MY CAFFEINE!"

"No." He started to walk away. "This'll be good for you."

I screamed again and dove for his legs. "PLEASE, Erik. Give me back my caffe—eine. I need it. PLEASE!"

"No! Now get off of me." He pulled me off of his legs, only to have me stuck on his arm. I whimpered.

"Just some of it? Ple-e-e-ease?"

"You're addicted, so no. Now GET OFF!"

"And you can't expect a junkie to change overnight," I said, digging my nails into his arm in an effort to hang on. "Wean me off of it. Slowly. I need my caffeine…"

"NO! You're quitting now, and that's FINAL!" He finally detached me and escaped into his room before I could catch him again.

Later that night, I was starting to come down off of my buzz, and it was painful. My head felt like people were using blow torches to roast marshmallow. And to make matters worse, I had a migraine. That means no light—it hurts my eyes too much and adds another blow torch to the campfire. So, I'm sitting in the dark, rocking back and forth on my heels, eyes wide searching the darkness.

"Can't sleep, clowns will eat me. Can't sleep, clowns will eat me. Can't sleep, clowns will eat me. Can't sleep, clowns'll eat me. Can't sleep, clowns'll eatme. Can't sleep, clowns'lleatme. Can'tsleep, clowns'lleatme. Can'tsleepclowns'lleatme. Can'tsleepclowns'lleatme! Erik! CAN'T SLEEP, CLOWNS'LL EAT ME! ER-R-RI-I-I-IK!"

Erik came bursting in. "What? What happened?"

I threw my arms up to block out the light, letting out a screech. "AAAAHHH! THE LIGHT! IT BURNS!" He quickly closed the door. I fell face down on the bed, unwanting to see the clowns and homicidal puppet come after me.

Erik turned me over on the bed. My arms were still over my face. "Can't sleep, clowns will eat me. Can't sleep, clowns will eat me…."

"What _are_ you talking about?"

"The clowns," I moaned, "—the clowns are in this room! They're gonna eat me the moment I fall asleep! And the homicidal puppet with the bow tie and the red hair and the freckles and the knife is gonna kill me! He's waiting for me to stop paying attention, and then he's gonna come at me with the knife and stab me to bits!"

"You're hallucinating. There's nothing here. No one is here except for you and me."

"—And the clowns and the puppet…Can't you see them? They're hiding in the darkness. I can hear them—I can _feel_ them—watching, waiting. And the puppet—the puppet is under the bed, waiting…" I crawled up against Erik. He was safe. No clown or puppet would dare attack me with Erik right there…

I felt Erik stiffen against me. I assumed it was because of the clowns and puppet, not because I was so close.

"Please, don't leave me with the clowns," I whimpered. "The clowns are gonna eat me—with their pointy sharp teeth and bone-munchies….and the puppet is just out to get me! He's been out to get me for years! Ever since that Goosebumps episode…"

"You are not allowed to have tea ever again," he said finally, pushing me off. "I am not dealing with this again. And you-you are just crazy. There is nothing here." He started to leave, but I grabbed his arm.

"PLEASE don't leave me with them! They're here, I know they are. They're just scared of you-you make it safe! PLEASE!"

"Get off!" he said in disgust, shaking me off. "There is nothing in this room! And I'm NOT answering any more of your screams."

"Erik-" I started to plead, but he was already at the door and opening it. I let out a shriek and covered my eyes as light blasted through. "Erik!" I tried again, but he was gone. Terrified, I dove under my sheets. If I couldn't see them, they couldn't see me. And if I stayed away from the edges of the bed, the homicidal puppet couldn't get to me. I kept repeating that to myself silently, but I knew it wasn't true. That puppet was still there. He could get me at any time. Like now. Or NOW! Or even NOW! Needless to say (but I'm going to say it anyway), I got very little sleep that night.

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**_A/N and Shame-ed Begging: _**_And that is the end of the manuscript that I found. I hope you've all enjoyed reading it. There are rumors of two more manuscripts of what happened to our narrator, Jessica, but I'm still looking for them. I'll be posting them when they're ready to read, though. No worries! In the mean-time, please, please, please press the button and give me a review!_


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